


ya5 18&8 ' 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.3?S'3it^^oi)yriglit No, 

^^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW/' 

AND 

OTHER VERSES. 

# €^ 



A COLLECTION OF POEMS FOR READERS 
BOTH PUBLIC AND PRIVATE, 



SAMUEL ELLSWORTH KISER. 



# m # 



THE HELMAN-TAYLOR COMPANY, 

CLEVELAND, O. 

1898. 






Copyright by 

The Helman-Jaylor CoMPANVr 

Cleveland, Ohio. 



iiCi,L'v^s:u^ 




fe^u^l^^ 



INTRODUCTION.... 

Somebody has said that a book of 

poems should never be published without 

a good excuse. The present author 

thinks he has one. Many of the rhymes 

contained in this little volume have been 

printed and reprinted in the American 

newspapers, and many inquiries have 

come to the author from people who 

were good enough to express desires for 

his verses *'in book form.'' Hence 

another tender foundling is placed upon 

the world's doorstep. 

S. E. K. 

Cleveland, Nov. 9th, J 898. 



CONTENTS. 



Character Sketches. 



Budd Wilkins at the Show, 

Visiting Laura Belle, 

Little Kate, 

When Dad Got Religion, . 

An Easy Man, 

Deacon White's Confession, 

Grandma's Lament, 

To-morrow, 

Uncle Henry's Downfall, 

The Missing One, 

"They've Named Him After Me 

Only a Woman, 

Uncle Rufus in the City, 

Beneath Old Glory, . 

An Every-Day Wonder, 

Uncle Henry On Theology, 

Nellie's Feller, . 

The Man Who Only Smiled, 

Ma's Boy, Art, . 

The Hired Man's Confession, 

The Other Man's Boy, . 

When the Riffle Is Made, . 



The Birth of the Rose, . 

Day and Night, 

Queer Old Nature, 

Apple Blossoms, 

Love's Calendar, 

Fellowship, 

The Wind in the Evergreens, 

Blossoms and Fruit, 

The Cricket, 



, 


J. 
5 


. 


9 


. 


II 


• 


H 




i6 


. 


20 


. 


22 




24 


, 


26 


e," ■ . 


28 




31 




34 


. 


36 


. 


38 


. 


40 




42 


, 


47 


. 


51 


. 


55 


. 


59 


. 


61 


Moods. 






. 65 


, 


66 


. 


. 68 


. 


69 




. 70 


. 


71 


. 


• 72 


. 


74 


. 


• 75 



CONTENTS. 



The Painted Leaves, 
October Days, 
Nature's Funeral Day, 
The Wind and the Leaves, 
The Dying Year, 



Miscellaneous Verses 



The Things That Are Denied, . 


85 


The Old Grind, .... 


86 


A Happy Man, .... 


. 87 


The Ways, 


88 


A Transformation, 


90 


The Man Who Failed, 


91 


The Meeting, .... 


92 


The Answer, .... 


93 


Innocence, .... 


95 


Tears and Smiles, .... 


96 


The One Below, .... 


. 98 


The Sweet Old Way, 


100 


The Man Who Is Not Needed, 


. 102 


The Banished Vision, 


104 


The Infidel 


105 


Her Tears, ..... 


107 


Words in the Sand, 


108 


His New Suit, .... 


109 


Visions of the Past, 


III 


Where She Is, . . . . 


113 


Going With the Crowd, 


114 


The Course of Love, 


116 


If, 


119 


Miss ** I-Don't-Care," 


121 


Happiness, .... 


123 


The Man of Faith, .... 


124 


Living It Over, .... 


126 


The Quarrel, ..... 


128 


The Man Who Didn't Rise, 


129 


Love's Mirror, .... 


130 
131 


Contentment, . . . . . 


Lines to a Cobbler, .... 


133 


Lost Candor, . . . . . 


134 



76 

78 

79 

80 
81 



CONTENTS. 



The Little Old Church Down Town, 

Since She's Away, 

On Life's Ladder, 

A Wish, .... 

Passing of a Good Samaritan, 

" When the Devil Was Sick," 

The Man Who Was Forgotten, 

A Song for the Selfish, . 

Waiting for Something to Happen, 

When Doctors Disagree, 

A Resurrection, 

Faith, 

The Search for Gold, 

The Man Who Hadn't Time, . 

The Qviarrel in the Cornfield, 

Love Asleep, 

This Queer Old World, 

The Recompense, 



135 
137 
138 
139 
140 
142 
144 
146 
147 
148 
ISO 
151 
152 
153 
154 
156 
157 
159 



A Few Boys. 



Song for the First Born, 
There is a Santa Claus, . 
The Boy Whose Pa Has Spells, 
Confessions of Little Willie, 
When Sorrows Come, 
Getting To Be a Man, . 
Meditations of Johnny, 
A Boy's King, 
She Never Was a Boy, 
Riding the Old Gray Horse, 
The First Christmas Tree, 
The Good Night Kiss, . 
A Boy's Complaint, . 



163 
164 
166 
169 
171 
172 

173 
174 
176 
177 
178 
179 
181 



CHARACTER SKETCHES. 



BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 

Since I've got used to city ways and don't 

scare at the cars, 
It makes me smile to set and think of 

years ago. — My stars! 
KovvT green I was, and how green all them 

country people be — 
Sometimes it seems almost as if this hardly 

could be me. 

"Well, I was goin' to tell you 'bout Budd 

Wilkins: I declare 
He was the durndest, greenest chap that 

ever breathed the air — 
The biggest town on earth, he thought, 

was our old county seat, 
With its one two-story brick hotel and 

dusty bizness street. 

We'd fairs in fall and now and then a 

dance or huskin' bee, 
Which was the most excitin' things Budd 

Wilkins ever see. 
Until, one winter, Skigginsville was all 

turned upside down 
By a troupe of real play actors a-comin' 

mto town. 

The court house it was turned into a the- 
ater, that night. 



BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 

And I don't s'pose I'll live to see another 

sich a sight : 
I guess that every person who was able fer 

to go 
Jest natchelly cut loose fer oncet, and 

went to see the show. 

Me and Budd we stood around there all 

day in the snow, 
But gosh! it paid us, fer we got seats 

right in the second row ! 
Well, the brass band played a tune er two, 

and then the play begun. 
And 'twa'n't long 'fore the villain had 

the hero on the run. 

Say, talk about your purty girls v/ith 

sweet, confidin' ways — 
I never see the equal yit, in all o' my 

born days, 
Of that there brave young heroine, so 

clingin' and so mild, 
And jest as innocent as if she'd been a 

little child. 

I most forgot to say that Budd stood six 

feet in his socks. 
As brave as any lion, too, and stronger 

than an ox! 
But there never was a man, I'll bet, that 

had a softer heart. 
And he was always sure to take the 

weaker person's part. 



BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 

Budd, he fell dead in love right off with 

that there purty girl, 
And I suppose the feller's brain was in a 

fearful whirl, 
Fer there he set and gazed at her, and 

when she sighed he sighed, 
And when she hid her face and sobbed, he 

actually cried. 

He clinched his fists and ground his teeth 

when the villain laid his plot 
And said out loud he'd like to kill the 

rogue right on the spot. 
And when the hero helped the girl, Budd 

up and yelled "Hooray!" 
He'd clean fergot the whole blame thing 

was nothin' but a play. 

At last the villain trapped the girl, that 

sweet confidin' child. 
And when she cried fer help, why I'll 

admit that I was riled ; 
The hero couldn't do a thing, but roll and 

writhe around 
And tug and groan because they'd got the 

poor chap gagged and bound. 

The maiden cried: "Unhand me nov/, 

or, v/eak girl that I am — " 
And then Budd Wilkins he jumped up 

and give his hat a slam. 
And, quicker'n I can tell it he was up 

there raisin' Ned, 
A-rescuin' the maiden and a-punchin' the 

rogue's head. 

3 



BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW. 

I can't, somehow, perticklerize concernin* 

that there row : 
The whole thing seems a sort of blur as I 

recall it now — 
But I can still remember that there was a 

fearful thud, 
With the air chock full of arms and legs 

and the villain under Budd. 

I never see a chap so bruised and battered 

up before 
As that there villain was when he was 

picked up from the floor ! — 
The show? Oh, it was busted, and they 

put poor Budd in jail. 
And kept him there all night, because I 

couldn't go his bail. 

Next mornin' what d'you think we heard? 

Most s'prised in all my life! 
That sweet confidin' maiden was the cruel 

villain's wife! 
Budd wilted when he heard it, and he 

groaned, and then, says he : 
^'Well, I'll be dummed! Bill, that's the 

last play actin' show fer me!" 



VISITING LAURA BELLE. 

I've just been up to tov/n to see my 

daughter Laura Belle — 
She married Henry Lee, you know — 

they're doin' mighty well! 
Live right in style, I tell you, in a house 

that's big enough 
For half a dozen fam'lies most, and oh 

the piles of stuff 
That they've got scattered through it, 

sich as bricky-brack 'nd books, 
And they're keepin' "first" and "second" 

girls 'nd chambermaids 'nd cooks, 
And kerridges 'nd all sich like, *nd she 

wears diamond rings — 
I vow, it must make Henry hump to pay 

fer all them things! 

And they are in society, clean over head 

'nd all- 
Card parties 'nd receptions, 'nd now and 

then a ball. 
And operies 'nd dinners at the club — gosh ! 

I dunno 
How folks can do much work 'nd be for- 
ever on the go ; 
And I told Henry plain that this here 
bein' out at night 



VISITING LA URA BELLE. 

And sleepin' late next mornin' wasn't 

altogether right. 
But he paid no attention 'cept to sort of 

draw up straight 
And say in kind of sneerin* tones, "Some 

folks was out of date." 

Now, that makes me remember what I 

started out to say : 
I didn't notice it at first, but seemed, 

from day to day, 
As if they had a notion that I wa'n't the 

proper style, 
Because when comp'ny come they kept 

me busy all the while 
A tendin' to the children, in the nursery, 

upstairs, 
And they never took me out to no society 

affairs. 
And in a lot of ways I seen that they 

appeared to be — 
Well, what's the use to hold it back? 

They was ashamed of me! 

Excuse me — I've ketched cold, I guess — I 

wonder what I done 
With that there henkerchief of mine — 

gosh, how my nose doos run! 
I can't help thinkin' of the time when 

Laura Belle and me 
Was just like two old cronies! She would 

set upon my knee, 
And I would teach her pieces, 'nd hug 

her to my heart, 



VISITING LA URA BELLE, 

And tell her that some day I s'posed 
some man 'ud make us part, 

And then she'd always kiss me 'nd look 
up at me 'nd say 

That I was all the beau for her, *nd she'd 
never go away. 

And when her mother died I mind how 

she held up so brave, 
And kept me from a breakin' down right 

there beside the grave, 
And when we got back home agin, where 

all appeared so bare 
And empty like 'nd lonesome, just 'cause 

mother wasn't there, 
She come 'nd put her arms around my 

neck^ 'nd then we cried 
Together there right on the spot, almost, 

where mother died ! 
Oh Lord, I don't know why it was — but I 

could plainly see. 
When I was there, that Laura Belle was 

sort of 'shamed of me! 

I s'pose I am old-fashioned, 'nd Henry 

may be right 
About my bein' out of date, 'nd mebby 

I'm a sight — 
But I ain't never robbed no 

cheated no one yit, 
And I have never took a thing I couldn't 

fairly git. 
But in the city things like them don't seem 

to count fer much — 



VISITING LA URA BELLE. 

They honor people fer their bonds 'nd 

railroad stocks 'nd such, 
And for the servants they can keep, 'nd 

the costly clo's they v/ear — 
They haven't any kind of use fer such as 

me, up there! 

I'm glad to be at home agin — back here 

upon the place 
Where I was born, 'nd where I'm not 

afraid to show my face — 
Here where I'm just as good as any one 

that I may meet. 
And where I do not have to walk behind 

folks in the street ! 
I wish that I'd not went up there at all, 

'nd that I had 
My little Laura Belle agin, to love 'nd pet 

her dad, 
As long ago she used to — but no! that 

cannot be — 
Oh Lord, it breaks my heart to think that 

she's ashamed of me! 



LITTLE KATE. 

*'Well, daughter, you, of course, should 

know the best about your name ; 
If Kathryn's what will suit you best, why 

then adopt the same; 
You've been away to college, and I s'pose 

you've learned a lot, 
And you ought to have as fine a name as 

any girl has got. 

"No, I don't say you mustn't change to 

Kathryn — not at all, 
The difference, as far as I can see, is very 

small — 
But, lawsy me! I can't, somehow, keep 

back the tears to-day — 
I guess it's cause you look so much like 

her that's gone away. 

''And, speakin' of your mother, dear, it 

seems as if I jest 
Could see her lyin' there again, with you 

upon her breast — 
Ah, what a glad look filled her eyes when 

I bent down and said 
I'd call our baby after her — jest 'fore her 

spirit fled 

*'I s'pose that I'm old fogyish — that I'm 
'way out of date, 



LITTLE KATE, 

And that it's foolishness for me to want 

to call you Kate ; 
But that's the name that she went by — a 

name that's dear to me, 
And when I call you by it I keep fresh her 

memory. 

*'Yes, daughter, change to Kathryn, if 

that name will suit you best. 
But we called you Kate the day you lay 

asleep upon her breast — 
There, there, my dear, don't cry no more 

— you ain't a bit to blame — 
I knew your heart was true to her and 

that you'd keep her name. " 



10 



WHEN DAD GOT RELIGION. 

I ain't no hand to argy; never could 

remember dates, 
And that's a fatal failin' for a feller that 

debates ; 
I don't, jist now, remember whether 

Moses up and smote 
The rock before or after Noah sailed off 

in his boat ; 
I know that little David knocked the giant 

feller out, 
But I've gone and clean forgotten what 

the trouble was about ! 
The Bible's full of chapters that I never 

understood, 
But there's one thing I am sure of: that 

religion's mighty good! 

My step-dad used to be a man that every- 
body feared; 

The very old horned devil had got in him, 
it appeared; 

He used to knock poor mother down and 
drag her by the hair. 

And if I bared my back to-day, you'd see 
his trade marks there! 

I couldn't help but trimble if he'd even 
look my way, 



WHEN .DAD GOT RELIGION. 

And that'd make him angry, and, great 

grief! the things he'd say! 
On many a night when he was out and I 

had went to bed, 
My mother'd kneel beside me and we'd 

wish that we was dead ! 

One winter they got up a big revival 

meetin' there — 
Church was packed — it seemed that we'd 

religion in the air! 
Mourner's bench was crowded every night 

for many a week; 
I tell you it'd raise your hair to hear that 

preacher speak! 
He'd make you think that Satan was right 

there behind your back. 
To git you if you didn't take the straight 

and narrow track! 
Night after night I laid awake, afraid to 

close my eyes, 
For fear I might get took because I'd 

been a-tellin' lies. 

Seemed as if dad looked jist like the 

preacher pictured out 
The old boy, in them sermons — but I 

'magined it, no doubt; 
And, one night, when he come and stood 

beside the trundle-bed, 
I thought he micant to beat me, and I 

covered up my head ; 
And then I laid and trimbled! I could 

seem to feel his blows, 



WHEN DAD GOT RELIGION. 

But purty soon I felt him gently pullin' at 

the clo's, 
And when I bared my face agin and 

looked tip at him, he 
Stood there awhile and cried, and then 

knelt down and prayed fer me. 

He never whipped me after that, nor 

scolded me no more, 
And I never knowed that life was half as 

beautiful before; 
All the world seemed brighter; it appeared 

as if the sun 
Had got to shinin' fairer and a new world 

had begun! 
I'm not no smart theologist that's got the 

facts all pat 
Concernin' sects and creeds and forms and 

all sich things as that , 
The Bible's full of passages I never under- 
stood, 
But there's one thing I am sure of: 

that religion's mighty good! 



13 



AN EASY MAN. 

Never seen an easier rnan in all my livin' 

days 
Than my old neighbor, Lisha Green, nor 

sich slow-goin' ways! 
Knowed him from his boyhood up — always 

jist the same, 
Never seemed to care a cent — took things 

as they came ; 
In the spring when other folks would git 

to breakin' ground, 
Lisha' d wait fer fairer days, and jist keep 

settin' round. 

Farm his father left him was the finest 

thereabout, 
But fences soon got shaky and the vreeds 

begin to sprout ; 
Buildin's got to leakin' and the crops they 

wouldn't grov/ — 
Plastered on a mor'gage — then the cattle 

had to go! — 
Still he didn't mind it, and no one ever 

found 
Lisha doin' anything but merely settin' 

'round. 

Sort of dried up — Lisha did — -and one day 
blowed away, 



AN EAST MAN. 

Leavin' nothin' back of him but lots of 

debts to pay. 
Guess he's up in heaven now — hope he is, 

at least — 
Know he never purposely done harm to 

man or beast ! — 
Mebby he's got golden wings — mebby he 

is crowned — 
Bet his wings are folded though and that 

he's settin' round. 



DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 

I've always been a Christian man and 

tried to live upright, 
But Satan laid a hidjeous plan fer me the 

other night: 
I went up to the wicked town to see my 

nephew Dick, 
And there became the victim of a low- 
down, wicked trick! 
And here I stand in meetin' to confess the 

whole affair — 
I've got to ease my conscience fer a 

weight is restin' there — 
And I'll tell it as it happened, of the 

dancin' girl and all, 
And I hope that you'll forgive me, fer the 

best of us may fall. 

You know when Dick was but a child, his 

folks they died, and so 
I had to take and raise 'im till a little 

while ago ; 
And since he's been up there he's rose 

uncommon fast, they say, 
But I'm afraid he's started out upon an 

evil way. 
I used to think that Dick was just as good 

as he could be, 



i6 



DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION, 

And how I loved to feel that he was like a 
son to me ! 

But I'm afraid 'twas all put on, fer other- 
wise he'd not 

Have put his uncle into such a fix as I 
have got. 

Him and a friend of his they said they had 

a treat in store, 
"The likes of which dear Uncle Ned had 

never seen before!" 
Well, they v/as right concernin' that! It 

was oncommon new — 
I hardly knowed where I was at, before 

the thing was through. 
A gaudy place it was, and we set up there 

where the folks 
Upon the stage could look at me and use 

me fer their jokes — 
They talked about my whiskers and they 

called me "Rube" and "Josh," 
And kept repeatin', all the time, 

"B'golly!" and "B'gosh!" 

At last a girl come out to sing — as purty 

as could be — 
But she didn't hardly wear a thing, as fur 

as I could see. 
Immejitiy she turned to us and then let 

loose a kick 
That made my senses teeter jus' as if I 

had been sick! 
And then she romped and danced and 

sung and tore around awhile— 



17 



DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 

But I set stiff and solemn like and never 

cracked a smile — 
And so she kept agoin' on the worst I 

ever saw, 
Till, finally, she says to me: "You ain't 

mad, are you, paw?" 

Then everybody laughed, and Dick he 

punched me in the side 
And him and that there friend of his 

howled till they nearly died. 
And 'fore I knowed jus' what was up, the 

girl was there with me 
A-pullin' of my whiskers as familiar as 

could be! 
She called me "paw" and "baby," and 

she chucked me on the chin — 
And me a-knowin' all the time it was a 

wicked sin — 
But what, I ask you, bretherun — I ask 

it face to face — 
Could anyone of you have done had you 

been in my place? 

They ordered up the wine, them two; I 

heard the glasses chink. 
And not another thing would do but I 

must take a drink! 
The stuff it burned like poison! Her 

breath was on my cheek — 
But deep, deep down inside of me, I heard 

a small voice speak! 
And, jumpin' up, I hollered that I'd got 

enough of that, 

i8 



DEACON WHITE'S CONFESSION. 

And so I simply bolted, without either 

coat or hat, 
And I run as if Old Nick himself was 

comin' on behind — 
With a weight upon my conscience and a 

blur upon my mind ! 

And here I stand a penitent before you all 

to-day — 
I know I oughtn't to have went to see no 

kind of play — 
But I have prayed and I have wept! I'll 

go to town no more, 
And, in my heart, I'm jus' as free from 

evil as before. * * 
Ah, thank you for your gracious words! 

They lift me from the dust! 
I raise my head again and take my stand 

among the just! 
I've told it to you truly, of the dancin* 

girl and all — 
I knowed that you'd forgive me, fer the 

best of us may fall f 



19 



GRANDMA'S LAMENT. 

"When we lived on the farm, pa used to get 

up with the sun, 
And prophesyin' weather was the first 

thing that he done ! 
He'd straighten up and stretch hisself 

and yawn awhile and blink, 
A.nd then he'd say! "It'll rain to-day, " 

or "Clearin' up, I think!" 
He had a hundred signs, or more, by* 

which he always told 
If it was goin' to shine or pour, or turn 

Qut hot or cold. 

But others come to live upon the old place 

long ago. 
(Dear, how I'd like to be there now, to 

see the peach trees blow!) 
And pa he's lost his knack of tellin' what 

it's goin' to do 
Since we've got settled here in town,, 

where everything's so new; 
When he gets up o' mornin's now first 

thing he's sure to say 
Is: *' Mother, where's the paper? What's 

the weather fer to-day?" 

Land sakes! I don't know what this 
world is surely comin' to! 



20 



GRANDMA'S LAMENT. 

They don't appear to be a thing 'lectricity 

won't do! 
It'll tell the weather days ahead; it's took 

the horse's place, 
And everybody knows just how it's wiped 

out time and space ! 
They's scasely any day goes by but some 

inventor finds 
Some new and startUn' thing to do to 

upset people's minds. 

But human nature ain't improved, as fur 

as I can see, 
And folks are even colder now than what 

they used to be ; 
Each man jest tries, with ail his might, to 

git some other downed, 
It's got to be a general fight among 'em 

all around! 
The rich are richer than they were ; the 

poor are poorer, too — 
And if you want to shine in church, 

you've got to rent a pew. 

I'm tired of it and I wish that I could 

wake, my dears. 
Some day and find that things had all 

rolled back 'bout thirty years; 
That all this rush had been a dream — that 

we was still out there. 
With the cows a-windin' down the lane 

and sweet smells in the air. 
And pa a-stretchin' hisself again in that 

old honest way, 
And sayin' lovin'-like to me: "Yes, it'll 

be fair, to-day!" 



TO-MORROW. 

*'Come, Betsy, let's be cheerful, 'taint no 

use to set 'nd fret; 
I know the crops look ragged, but they 

may turn out well yet; 
Your rheumatis' is hurtin', 'nd my back 

is stiff 'nd sore. 
But let's hope it's somethin' better that 

to-morrow has in store — 
You know that when the light comes, it is 

darkest just before. 

**0f course, I'm not pretendin' that the 
cares what we have had 

Was as deep as this one is, but some of 
them was purty bad, 

'Nd to-morrow — there's no tellin' — we 
may hear from John by then, 

'Nd find that he's recovered 'nd gone 
back to work again." 

The weeping mother murmured some- 
thing like a low "Amen!" 

The morrow came, and with it came a 

letter — not the one 
That they longed for and had prayed for, 

yet it told them of their son. 
The father wiped his glasses and read, 

and then reread — 



TO-MORROW. 

It seemed as if some weighty thing had 

struck him on the head — 
For the words were staring at him, and 

they told him John was dead ! 

**Well, mother, he is comin'," thus the old 

man spake at last; 
"The sickness that was on 'im's gone, the 

danger point is past, 
'Nd he's comin' home to-morrow — 

comin' back here fer to stay" — 
She hurried to the kitchen, and old Jasper 

heard her say: — 
"Kill a chicken, he'll be hungry after 

travelin' all day." 



23 



UNCLE HENRY'S DOWNFALL. 

It takes all kinds of people to make up the 

world, they say, 
And I've met a mighty lot of different 

species, in my day — 
All with their various hobbies and their 

politics and creeds, 
The things that poison one may be just 

what some other needs ; 
One man'll claim you can't be saved unless 

you've been immersed, 
While the next one says of all the foolish 

doctrines, that's the worst — 
What one man likes another scorns, that 

seems to be the rule, 
And the chap that tries to please 'em all 

is just a common fool. 

Some folks can't stand the climate here 

and want to move away, 
While others think it's lovely — or, at 

least, that's what they say; 
One man'll read a story and he'll split his 

sides and roar, 
While the next one mebby'll say he never 

see such rot before ; 
Some people go to meetin' every Sunday, 

rain or clear. 



24 



UNCLE HENR7^'S DOWNFALL. 

While other fellers hardly hear a sermon 

once a year — 
What one man likes his neighbor has no 

use for, as a rule, 
And the man that tries to please 'em all 

is just a common fool. 

When you think the weather's pleasant 

the first fellow that you meet, 
As like as not'll grumble at the cold or 

else the heat; 
They made me school director here about 

a year ago. 
And I started out intendin' to give every 

one a show; 
I tried to keep from takin' sides — I done 

the best I could — 
Last week they kicked me out and said I 

wasn't any good! 
I guess that every other man is cranky, 

as a rule, 
And the chap that tries to please 'em all's 

an ordinary fool ! 



THE MISSING ONE. 

I don't think I'll go in to town to see the 

boys come back ; 
My bein' there would do no good in all 

that jam and pack ; 
There'll be enough to welcome them — to 

cheer them, when they come 
A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat 

upon the drum; 
They'll never miss me in the crowd — not 

one of 'em will care 
If, when the cheers are ringin' loud, I'm 

not among them there. 

I went to see them march away, I hollered 

with the rest, 
And didn't they look fine that day 

a-marchin' four abreast. 
With my boy James up near the front, as 

handsome as could be, 
And wavin' back a fond farev/ell to 

mother and to me! 
I vow my old knees trimbled so when they 

had all got by, 
I had to jist set down upon the curbstone 

there and cry. 

And now they're comin' home agen! The 
record that they won 



26 



THE MISSING ONE. 

Was sich as shows we still have men when 

men's work's to be done! 
There wasn't one of 'em that flinched — • 

each feller stood the test — 
Wherever they were sent they sailed right 

in and done their best! 
They didn't go away to play; they 

knowed what was in store ; 
But there's a grave somewhere, to-day, 

down on the Cuban shore! 

I guess that I'll not go to town to see the 

boys come in; 
I don't jist feel like mixin' up in all that 

crush and din ! 
There'll be enough to welcome them — to 

cheer them when they come 
A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat 

upon the drum. 
And the boys'U never notice — not a one 

of 'em will care, 
For the soldier that would miss me ain't 

a-goin' to be there! 



27 



"THEY'VE NAMED HIM 
AFTER ME." 

I never liked that Amos Gray, 

Somehow he seemed to be 
A sort of schemer in his way 
And so it bothered me 
X/ike sixty when he started home from 

church, one Sunday night, 
With our Alice, and they sot, without a 
spark o' light, 
A-talkin' and a-laughin* till 

Away past one o'clock, 
With ma a-frettin' fit to kill, 
And me as mad's a hawk! 

You see I've got the finest place 

In this hull township, and 
The way I figgered out the case 
Young Gray had simply planned 
To marry in the fambly and take hold and 

run affairs, 
And so I told him plainly that we seen his 
cunnin' snares! 
If him and Alice had to go 

And marry, well and good. 
But I took care to let him know 
How matters reely stood ! 



28 



<^ THEY'VE NAMED HIM AFTER ME:' 

'Course Alice praised him up and cried 

And got her mother won, 
And then they both pitched in and tried 
To git me on the run, 
But I had took my stand and there I 

vowed that I would stay, 
And so, one day the words was said and 
the young folks went away! 
My grief ! how lonesome it did seem 

When Alice wa'n't about; 
Sometimes I wanted jist to scream 
To chase the silence out. 

Well, that was 'bout a year ago, 

And last night Amos he 
Come tearin' down to let us know 
They'd named him after me — 
I mean the little boy they've got — I've 

jist been up with wife, 
And I never seen as fine a child as him in 
all my life! 
And smart ! By George, when I stood 
there. 
As quiet as could be, 
He v/oke and smiled — he did — I 



swear 



And they've named him after me 



They say he's got my chin and nose. 

His eyes are like mine, too ; 
From his curly head clear to his toes, 
He's like me through and through! 
I'm goin' up to town to-day, to deed the 
farm away, 

29 



THET' VE .NAMED HIM AFTER ME.'' 

'm tired workin' and I give the place to 
Amos Gray; 
We'll all live here and part no more, 

I've got 'em to agree — 
Say, did I mention it before? 
They've named him after me! 



30 



ONLY A WOMAN. 

He used to treat her shameful! I have 
heard the neighbors say 

That they wouldn't think of usin' a com- 
mon cur that way! 

Let her slave until her back ached and 
her fingers fairly bled, 

And once he throwed a hatchet that jist 
barely missed her head! 

She would do a hard day's sewin', and 
then he'd come home at night 

And abuse her if the supper didn't happen 
to be right. 

She might of married better, for she used 

to be as sweet 
And as fair a little maiden as a feller'd 

care to meet ; 
Her cheeks was round and rosy, and her 

eyes'd set you wild. 
And the world seemed mighty pleasant 

when she looked at you and smiled ! 
Had an ankle that was lovely, and her 

form was plump and trim — 
And everybody wondered when she went 

and married him, 

I s'pose she thought, like other foolish 
girls have thought before, 



31 



ONL r A WOMA N, 

That she'd make him quit his drinkin', 

but he only drunk the more — 
Went from bad to worse the minute that 

she'd given him her hand, 
And the way she'd stick up for him I 

could never understand — 
Law, she'd flare up like a wildcat when 

her folks' d interfere — 
But, alas, her girlish beauty soon begun 

to disappear! 

One night, they say, he choked her — Gol, 

I wish that I'd been there! — 
Knocked her down and beat and dragged 

her round the kitchen by the hair ! 
And so, with tears a-streamin' down her 

face, she went away 
To the home in which she hadn't set a 

foot for many a day — 
Went and laid her achin' head upon her 

weepin' mother's breast — 
Meekly went and sobbed and snuggled in 

the old home nest. 

After while we seen the roses bloom.in' on 

her cheeks agin, 
And she hadn't lost the purty little dimple 

from her chin, 
And in spite of all the sorrow and the 

troubles she'd been through 
She was jist as sweet as ever — and a little 

sv/eeter, too! — 
And the folks begin to gossip, as you 

know, folks always will, 

32 



ONLT A WOMAN. 

And wonder why she didn't hurry up and 
get a bill. 

Ke kept on, when she had left him, in his 

old disgraceful way; 
No one knew jist how he managed — but 

it leaked out yisterday 
That he'd got some sort of fever, and in 

order to git through, 
He'd have to have a doctor and some 

tender nursin', too! — 
O she smiled at me, one mornin', and the 

whole world seemed to swim! 
She is lovelier than ever — but she's goin* 

back to him ! 



33 



UNCLE RUFUS IN THE CITY. 

Been a-livin' in town with my boy James, 

now goin' on 'leven years, 
But I ain't got used to it yit, by gum! 

This city life appears 
To jest knock all your energy out, 

'N' leave you sort of dead! 
I'm too blame tired to git about, 

'N' I've a buzzin' in my head! 
I guess it's the noise of the cars 'n' things 

that rings in my ears all day, 
'N', oh but I wish I could eat 'n' sleep in 

the good, old-fashioned way ! 

I'd like to be back on the farm agin, 

where the buds is sproutin' now, 
'N', Lord, how I'd like to rise with the 

sun 'n' git out behind the plow! 
Turnin' the mellow furrow along 

Up over the slopin' hill, 
'N' hearin' some farm hand's happy song 
Mixed up with his "Haw, there. Bill!" 
Seein' the crows a-circlin' round, way up 

in the clear blue sky, 
'N' hearin' mother blowin' the horn fer 

breakfast, by 'n' by. 

I'd like to stop at the end of the field 'n' 
feel the country breeze, 



34 



UNCLE RUFUS IN THE CIT7\ 

As it comes through the orchard on the 

hill with the scent of the bloomin' 

trees; 
*N' I'd Hke to smell the sweet wood smoke 

That comes from the burnin' brush, 
'N' instead of the sparrow's tiresome 

croak 
I'd hear the song of the thrush! 
'N', then, to wash in the old tin pail 

with mother standin' there — 
What's this? Tears tricklin' down my 

face? AVell, I'm cryin', I declare! 

I've lost my appetite, somehow, since I 

ain't got nothin' to do, 

'N' the days jest seem to come because 

they've got to be worried through! 

Out yonder the trees are in blossom now, 

As they blossomed when I was there ; 

But some one else is guidin' the plow 

'N' breathin' the scented air, 
'N' mother's asleep on the grassy hill 

beneath the poplar tree — 
'N' I wish the leaves it's puttin' forth was 
also to shelter me ! 



35 



BENEATH OLD GLORY. 

I was down to the postoffice 'tother day, 
Settin' there and whittlin' away 

While Hammond sorted the letters, 
When all of a sudden it come to me 
How happy a feller ought to be 
That's born in this glorious land of the 
free, 

Where no one kneels to his betters. 

There was the flag above my head, 
With the stars and the blue and the white 
and the red, 

And I watched it float and flutter; 
And it made me proud to know that I 
Was as good as any man under the sky 
And wasn't compelled to help supply 

Some prince's bread and butter. 

But presently Silas Gifford he 

Come stroUin' along and set down by me. 

And then he begin to grumble: 
Nothin' seemed to be goin' right, 
Potatoes were poor and corn was a sight — 
Wheat had been injured by the blight. 

And rye had taken a tumble. 

I whittled away and listened awhile, 
And then says I: "Look here now, Sile,, 
What's the use of your frettin'? 



36 



BENEATH OLD GLORT. 

Look at the starry flag up there ; 
Look at them stripes wave in the air — 
Man, think what it is to be settm' where 
You're lucky enough to be settin' !" 

He set and looked and I heard him sigh, 
And I saw his face flush, by and by — 

He'd forgotten his doleful story ; 
And then he stood up and he says to me: 
"Lord, ain't it great," he says, "to be 

free — 
To be an American" — says he — 

"And stand beneath Old Glory!" 



37 



AN EVERY-DAY WONDER. 

I've lived in this here world of ours, now, 

sixty years and more, 
And things don't seem to strike me just 

as they have heretofore; 
I've been a-thinkin' hard about a lot of 

things of late, 
And folks I once despised I sort of look 

upon as great. 

For instance, there is old De Gull, who's 

owin' every one; 
I used to hold him up as an example for 

to shun. 
But though he's deep down in the hole, 

just see the way he lives, 
And think of all the parties and the 

charity he gives! 

I work for what I have, and don't owe 

any man a dime. 
While he rides 'round in carriages, and 

has a gorgeous time ; 
He goes in high society and lives 'most 

like a king. 
While folks don't think that I amount ta 

scarcely anything. 

Now, what I wanted to get at was some- 
thing like this here : 



38 



AN EVERT-DAT WONDER. 

It takes a genius to be a fraud, and yet 

appear 
As if he was the greatest man a person 

ever saw, 
Who makes the folks he owes stand off 

and gaze at him in awe. 



39 



UNCLE HENRY ON THEOLOGY. 

They say that story 'bout the whale and 

Jonah isn't true. 
And now they've gone — the preachers 

have — and tackled David, too; 
They say he didn't write the Psalms, at 

least, not nearly all — 
I wonder what'll be the next good old 

beUef to fall? 

They've even thrown suspicion on the 

birth of Moses, and 
The princess who discovered him down 

there in Egypt land — , 
They say there ain't no fiery lake, no 

devil, therefore no 
Such place as that which used to make 

the sinners tremble so. 

They've said that Noah's ark is just a 

piece of fiction, too, 
And that the tale of Daniel in the lion's 

den ain't true; 
They've said that Adam's just a myth, 

they've said the same of Eve — 
I wonder if there's anything they'll leave 

us to believe? 

They ridicule old Joshua for pointin' at 
the sun, 

40 



UNCLE HENRT ON THEOLOGT. 

And tellin' it to stop — they say the thing 
was never done; 

They've taken up the patriarchs and ques- 
tioned all their acts; 

They say the Bible's quite a book, but 
rather shy of facts. 

Well, let 'em preach and let 'em lay the 

whole great structure low ! 
I s'pose they have to talk that way 'cause 

people want it so; 
The good book doesn't suit some folks at 

all, but as for me — 
I'm satisfied to keep the faith I got at 

mother's knee. 



41 



NELLIE'S FELLER. 

You know there's always someone in each 

neighborhood that stands 
Above the other people, for his fam'ly or 

his lands, 
Or because he's reely smart enough to jist 

go right ahead 
And take the lead in ev'rything that's 

ever done or said, 
For folks, in that respect, are like the 

quackin' geese that fly 
Behind some knowin' gander as they trail 

across the sky — 
From the army to the hay field it's the 

same the whole way through, 
There must always be a leader if there's 

anything to do. 

Well, the man who sort of run things 

down in our neighborhood 
Was a feller by the name of — let's see — 

s'pose we call 'im Wood; 
He owned three of the finest farms within 

a dozen miles, 
And the common supposition was that he 

had wealth in piles. 
And in addition to them things, he 

measured six foot one, 



42 



NELLIE'S FELLER, 

And had a reputation for the fightin' he 
had done — 

Moreover, he'd a daughter, jist as hand- 
some as a rose, 

Who, at the age of twenty-one, had forty- 
'leven beaux. 

One day there come along a chap from 

York State who began 
To work for Henry Holman — sort of 

quiet, slender man 
Along somewhere about the age of 

twenty-three or four, 
And Nellie Wood soon tired of the beaux 

she'd had before; 
But jist about the time that her and this 

young man agreed 
That they had ought to marry, her old 

dad decided he'd 
Step in and take a hand! Ordered John 

to vanish, nor never come agen — 
Said his girl could have her pick of fifty 

better men. 

But they kept on a-lovin' and a-meetin' 

here and there, 
And, of course, the busy-bodies had to 

follow the affair. 
Until one evenin' John was at the 

Corners, in the store. 
When suddenly there was a hush, for 

loomin' in the door 
Was Nellie's dad about as mad as any 

man could get, 

43 



NELLIE'S FELLER. 

And he went for that young feller like a 

hurricane, you bet! 
He didn't stop to argue, nor to throw his 

coat aside. 
But, without a word of warnin' started in 

to tan his hide. 

They say that kegs and boxes was sent 

whirlin' ev'rywhere. 
And that legs and arms and coat tails was 

a-spinnin' in the air; 
They was rippin', they was tearin', they 

was whiskers floatin' round. 
They sent the show-case flyin', and spilled 

groceries by the pound ; 
They tumbled over barrels and they ham- 
mered, till, at last 
John got the old man under where he 

held him hard and fast — 
Held him there and choked him — then, 

without a word to say 
Got up and brushed his clothin' and 

serenely walked away. 

Of course you know what happened then — 

John took the girl and went, 
But they didn't, like so many do, come 

back home penitent; 
He got a job in town and 'twa'n't so very 

long before 
We heard the feller'd went and bought an 

interest in a store. 
But Nellie's dad, he, somehow, had the 

hardest kind of luck. 



44 



NELLIE'S FELLER. 

From that time on, that any man in this 

world ever struck — 
Everything he touched jist seemed to go 

to pieces, and 
'Twa'n't long before they took away the 

last rod of his land. 

Let's see — it's 'leven years since I come 

in to town to stay — 
My cracky ! how the months and years do 

seem to slip away! 
I guess the time has passed so fast because 

I've never had 
Sich happiness as this since she was here 

to make me glad — 
I mean my daughter's mother, who had 

died long, long before 
The episode I mentioned which occurred 

there in the store. 
And the little grassy mound upon the 

hillside where she lies 
Is the only thing that makes me like to 

keep up the old ties. * * * 

Yes, the names that I've referred to was 

to throw you off the track ; 
It was me that got the lickin' and was all 

tore up the back. 
And my son-in-law's the smartest little 

man in this here town, 
With something like a half a million dollars 

salted down! 
And him and Nellie's jist like two young 

spoonin' lovers yet, 



4S 



NELLIE'S FELLER. 

Enjoyin' all the comforts that good 

money's made to get. 
With their little ones around them, all 

as happy as can be, 
And makin' this old world a reg'lar 

Paradise f er me ! 



4*5 



THE MAN WHO ONLY SMILED. 

I never saw a man as free from what is 

known as care 
As Ira Hamlin used to be — it seemed to 

me, I swear, 
Sometimes, as if the feller must jist laugh 

the whole day through 
And keep his smilin* up at night, while 

he was sleepin', too; 
Never used to meet him but he'd have a 

word to say 
To kind of cheer a feller up and drive the 

blues away. 

I mind the time his horse was killed — the 

best one that he had — 
He never gave a sign to show that he was 

feelin' bad; 
Jist kept a smilin' countenance and 

worked away the same 
As if he'd lost a nickel in a friendly little 

game; 
Nothin' seemed to break him down; 

always crackin' jokes — 
Makin' light of things that would have 

worried other folks. 

One fall his boy was taken sick — none of 
the doctors knew 



47 



THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 

Jist what the trouble was, and so he lay 

all winter through 
A-hoverin' 'twixt life and death — still Ira 

smiled away — 
Always had his joke, or else a hopeful 

word to say. — 
Bat when the trees began to bud and the 

birds began to mate 
They laid his little boy away, up by the 

graveyard gate. 

We watched 'im, as he stood beside the 

little grave up there. 
But no one saw 'im shed a tear — he 

didn't seem to care — 
And when the last words had been said, 

he simply turned away. 
And went about his work again, with not 

a word to say — 
A-smilin' as he always had, and, in a day 

or so, 
A-jokin' as if sorrow was a thing he didn't 

know. 

Vv^ell, I jist couldn't stand it! He was 

plowin' on the hill: 
At first I says: "No, what's the use?" 

and then says I : "I will!" — 
So I went up, and we set down, upon the 

old wood sled, 
And he began to crack his jokes, and then 

I up and said 
I couldn't, fer the life of me, see how 

'twas any one 



THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 

Could throw his burdens off and go ahead, 
as he had done. 

*'I don't believe," says I, "that you are 

built like other folks: 
I've never seen you feelin* bJue — you're 

always crackin' jokes; 
Don't sorrow never git into your breast 

and rankle there? 
Or has the Good Lord made you so you 

never have a care? — 
But Ira'd put his face into his hands and 

bent his head. 
And I'd a given all the world to take back 

what I said. 

I never heard such sobs before ! We set 

there half a day, 
And never said a single word, for he jist 

wept away; 
Seemed as if the sorrow he'd escaped in 

former years 
Had all come on 'im in a flood, and same 

way with his tears; 
But when, at last he'd wiped his eyes, 

he turned around to me, 
And then between his sobs, in sort of 

chokin' words, says he: 

"I've tried to keep a cheerful face„ 

because I didn't care 
To burden other folks with woes that God 

gave me to bear ; 



49 



THE MAN WHO ONLT SMILED. 

They've troubles of their own; I thought 

that smilin' was the best, 
Yet often when I've laughed 'twas jist to 

ease my achin' breast — 
But now, it seems, you want a man to 

mope and moan and groan, 
Instead of keepin' back his tears till he 

can be alone — 



I'd nothin' more to say, and so that night 

when all was still 
I hunted out the little grave up yonder on 

the hill, 
And there I stopped beside the gate and 

leaned against the bars, 
And saw him kneelin' by the mound and 

lookin' toward the stars. 



50 



MA'S BOY, ART. 

Have you ever seen it stormin' when it 

seemed that every tree 
Would be ripped up by the roots, and all 

the furies were set free? 
When the earth jist fairly trimbled under 

angry Nature's wrath, 
And destruction seemed in store for every 

object in 'er path? 
When the rain come down so hard the 

drops appeared to have been sent 
Like rattlin' shot hurled out of some 

destructive instrument? — 
Well, that's about the sort of mood that 

dad was in the day 
That him and Arthur quarreled, and the 

latter went away. 

"Don't never dare to set your foot inside 

my door again!" 
Them 'were the words dad shouted, and 

his face was livid then. 
And Art was full of foolish pride — he 

grabbed his hat and went — 
He scorned the bill dad offered him— he 

wouldn't take a cent! 
He wouldn't be beholdin' for a thing to 

dad, he swore — 



51 



MA'S BOr, ART. 

It seems to me I see him now, a-standin' 

in the door, 
With mother hangin' on his neck — and, 

oh, her piercin' crjM 
For full a month I don't beh'eve her eyes 

were ever dry ! 

We plowed and planted and we hoed — the 

summier wore away. 
And every night when bedtime come, and 

mother knelt to pray, 
I'd hear her ask the Lord to send his 

richest blessin' down 
Upon her boy, away alone, up in the 

wicked town! 
And often she would look at dad, with 

pleadin' eyes that said 
The words she didn't dare to speak; but 

he would shake his head. 
And close his lips, and clinch his fists, and 

then she'd hide 'er face. 
And a sort of lonesome sadness seemed to 

hang around the place. 

Such crops as seemed worth harvestin' we 

put away, some how ; 
We hadn't more than hay enough to half 

fill up a mow — 
But we raised a flock of turkeys that was 

far the best around ! — 
We'd a gobbler dad declared would tip the 

scale at forty pound: 
*'I'll try to sell the others off Thanksgivin' 

week," he said, 

52 



MA'S BOTy ART. 

*'But I'm goin' to keep that gobbler, and 

we won't chop off his head! 
Somehow, I kind of Hke the way he lords 

it with the rest, 
For a heart is good, but still I like a 

haughty spirit best!" 

The day before Thanksgivin' come, and 

dad drove down the lane; 
The wind was raw, and sleety drops come 

rattlin' on the pane, 
And mother set there thinkin' — then she 

give a frightened start — 
The door was softly opened, and I looked, 

and there was Art, 
So white and thin and haggard that, at 

first it seemed almost 
As if it couldn't be himself, but just his 

hungry ghost — 
And mother ! Oh, her voice is still these 

many, many years. 
But the cry she give rings just as plain as 

ever in my ears! 

That afternoon, when dad come home, 

Art hid away, up stairs. 
And mother bustled 'round and tried to 

not expose affairs. 
But dad was hardly in the house before he 

stopped and said : 
' What's goin' on? I want the truth! 

I'm not a punkin' head!" 
Then mother, trimblin' like a leaf, ketched 

hold of Arthur's hand, 



53 



MA'S BOr, ART. 

And led him slowly to the spot v/here dad 

had took his stand — 
And Art stood there and looked at dad, 

and dad looked back at Art, 
And mother prayed in whispers for the 

Lord to touch his heart. 

It seemed an hour that they stood — then 

mother she give way : 
"He's starved and sick," she cried to 

dad, "please say that he can stay!" 
At last, dad turned, without a word, and 

left the room, and then 
We set and wondered till, at last, we 

heard his step again. 
He'd gone and killed the gobbler — he 

brought him in and said: 
"He had a splendid spirit, and he held a 

haughty head — 
But his head is low, at present, and he's 

lost his spirit, too — 
How about Thanksgivin', mother? I'll 

jist leave it all to you." 



54 



THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 

I got to thinkin' t'other day, about this 

world's affairs; 
How some folks have it easy, and how 

some are bent with cares ; 
How some must work from mornin' tiJl 

the sun sinks in the West, 
And other people only do the things that 

suit 'em best — 
I set there while the horses switched the 

buzzin' flies away, 
And I thought how I had got to keep 

a-slavin' every day. 
While them wealthy summer boarders 

that had come to us from town, 
Spent the money that their dads, no 

doubt, had earned and salted down. 

And, referrin' to them boarders, there is 

one among 'em who 
Is the beautifullest maiden any mortal 

ever knew; 
Oh, her voice is just like music and she's 

got an angel's face, 
And since she come she's sort of made a 

heaven of the place. 
And I've often set and watched her and 

then wished that I could be 



55 



THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 

Rich and handsome like them others, so 
that she would notice me — 

But, of course, I'm just a farmer, with 
big, bony, calloused hands, 

Only fit to love in secret every spot on 
which she stands. 

And while I set there, thinkin', she come 

poppin' in my mind. 
And then I got to dreamin' and my cares 

were left behind — 
Got to thinkin' of myself as rich and 

handsome and forgot 
All about the tired horses standin' out 

there in the lot! 
But that couldn't last forever, there was 

work I had to do, 
And I dropped down out of Cloudland, 

wishin' all of it was true. 
And I rose up where I'd rested, in the 

corner by the tree, 
And my heart stood still, for she was 

standin' there in front of me! 

I don't know how it happened, but we 

stood there in the shade. 
And I said a lot of things that sounded 

foolish, I'm afraid — 
At least, I know I told her how I'd got to 

slave away, 
And how I'd planned to go and get a job 

in town some day — 
How I'd like to have white hands and dress 

in stylish clothin', too, 

56 



THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION, 

How I'd like to go and mingle with the 

people that she knew ! 
And how my face was burnin', and my 

heart, oh, how it beat! 
And all the while she stood there, gazin' 

straight down at her feet. 

After while she looked up at me, and I 

never shall forget 
How sad and sweet her smile was and 

I hear her talkin' yet! 
"You must work, it is your fortune, and 

your hands are big and bruised. 
But to work is only manly — " them's the 

very words she used — 
"And the man whose hands are softest 

and whose clothing is the best 
Doesn't always have the bravest, purest 

heart within his breast ; 
You must work, while over yonder men 

put in their time at play, 
But to me you're worth a dozen of those 

others, any day." 

Then she shook my hand and left me, and 

I took the reins agen, 
And workin', somehow, seemed to be all 

fired easy then ! 
Of course, I know she only said them 

words to ease my mind, 
Said 'em only, heaven bless 'er, 'cause she 

wanted to be kind. 
But although I know I never could expect 

that such as she 

57 



THE HIRED MAN'S CONFESSION. 

Would forsake the world she lives in, or 

could love the likes of me, 
Far down into my bosom I have hid her 

words away — 
Words she never meant, I reckon — but 

which cheer me on, to-day. 



58 



THE OTHER MAN'S BOY. 

"If that there boy belonged to me," said 

Deacon Holliday, 
*'I'd hate to tell you what I'd do to make 

'im change his way. 
I'd thrash 'im till he couldn't see; I'd 

chase 'im from the place! 
There ain't no use of bein' mild or kind 

in such a case. 
His father surely ought to know that he 

is doin' wrong 
To spare the rod and let 'im go his own 

way right along — 
Laws! If that boy was mine, I'll bet I'd 

make 'im change his way; 
I'd lick 'im till he couldn't set!" said 

Deacon Holliday. 

The Deacon had a little son who grew, as 

boys will grow. 
And every boy must have his fun, or he's 

no boy, you know ! 
The outraged neighbors wondered why 

the Deacon was so mild, 
They marveled that the father spared the 

rod and spoiled the child. 
In every plot, however dark, that bad boy 

had a share ; 



59 



THE OTHER MAN'S EOT, 

And on two brows he left his mark in 

many a whitened hair ! 
Ah, the Deacon had a Httle son, who grew 

as boys will grow, 
And the Deacon, when all's said and done, 

was just a man, you know! 



60 



WHEN THE RIFFLE IS MADE. 

I s'pose I should feel like a man to-day fer 

the first time in my life, 
Although I come purty nigh feelin' that 

way when Mollie was made my wife; 
And that night when our little Albert was 

born, gol, didn't I sort of rise 
Right up in my boots and feel as if I'd 

got about growed full size! 
Still, they was somethin' I needed yit, 

and oh, it was far away ! 
But I buckled down and I worked fer it — 

and the farm is mine to-day ! 

When Mollie and me commenced, I guess 

I'd a hunderd dollars or so, 
And she pitched in and she helped me 

save, but Moses! wasn't it slow! 
Many and many a time I've gone and got 

blue and wanted to quit, 
But Mollie'd say: "Keep a-goin', John, 

we'll make the riffle yit!" 
That was afore little Albert come — when 

the Lord sent him, why then 
'Course, no sich thought as givin' it up 

ever entered my head agen. 

I've jist been up to the county seat — the 
last red cent is paid: 



6i 



WHEN THE RIFFLE IS MADE. 

The farm belongs to me complete — the 

riffle at last is made, 
And, oh, what a feelin' it is to know that 

the roof above your head 
Belongs to you and has got to go to them 

you love, when you're dead! 
No man has ever been quite a man who 

couldn't set down somewhere. 
And say to himself: "This ground is 

mine and I've earned it fair and 

square. ' ' 

Still, I ain't as happy by far, to-day, as 

I've often been before; 
The last incumbrance is cleared away — 

but MoUie ain't here no more! 
I promised I'd deed it over to her, but 

that can't never be. 
For the Lord saw fit to take her away from 

little Albert and me, 
And I'd give up all if she'd leave her 

grave, with her smiles and her patient 

ways. 
To help me earn and to help me save, as 

in the old, happy days. 



62 



NATURE AND HER MOODS, 



THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. 

A thistle once grew near a lily, 

A stately lily and fair, 
And the wind swayed the one to the 
other, 

And the spirit of love was there. 

And unto the lily and thistle 
A sweet little flower was born. 

And the lily bent down to caress it, 

And her finger was pricked by a thorn. 

The blood that the pale, pure lily, 
In the joy of her motherhood shed, 

Gave the sweet little stranger its color. 
Gave the rose its beautiful red. 

The rose that unto the lily 

And unto the thistle was born, 

By the lily was given its beauty, 
By the thistle was given its thorn. 



65 



DAY AND NIGHT. 

When it is day, and traffic roars about me 

in the street, 
I need no guidance to elude the snares 

about my feet; 
When ii is day I go my way among the 

haunts of men, 
Nor care who holds the stars in space, nor 

doubt nor question then ; 
I take the world for granted, and so toil 

and scheme away, 
I hear the passing hour struck nor pray 

the hands might stay. 
When it is day. 

When it is night, and I, alone, walk down 

the quiet lane 
I hear the rustling blades of grass make 

God's high purpose plain; 
When it is night the gleaming stars that 

through the distance roll 
Send by the zephyrs messages to whisper 

to my soul, 
I hear the chimes exult because of Time's 

unceasing flight 
And feel my littleness, with all the 

Universe in sight. 
When it is nisfht. 



66 



DAT AND NIGHT. 

Life is day; the grave is night! Oh, 
when the pall is spread 

Will there be constellations then still 
gleaming overhead? 

When, after all the dreams and schemes 
that quicken men are gone, 

When, after all the rush and roar the 
silent night comes on. 

Will there be empty darkness and a pulse- 
less lump of clay. 

Or will the Sun have just sent forth the 
first refulgent ray 

That wakes the day? 



67 



QUEER OLD NATURE. 

"Why is it," asked a wondering child 

(Sweet, simple little thing), 
'*That the foolish tree puts on its clothes 
When the sun shines, in the spring. 
And then, when chilly autumn comes 

And the winds of winter blow. 
Why does it stand out there, all bare, 
In the frost and sleet and snow?" 

"Wise Nature has arranged it thus," 

I told the little one, 
"The rustling leaves can only live 
Beneath a smiling sun ; 
The tree that, in the summer time. 

Makes shady bowers for you 
Must have its rest, therefore it stands 
Asleep the winter through." 

She sat in silence for a while 

And gazed far into space, 
And lines of thought and trouble came 

To mar her childish face ; 
And so, at last, she turned and said : 
"I'm sorry for the tree, 
And glad that Nature wasn't left 

To fix things up for me!" 



68 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 

The rose that blooms in the hot house 

Is rare and fair to see, 
But still the fragrant blossoms 

Of the dear old apple tree 
That stands in the edge of the orchard 

Somehow appeal to me ! 

I remember how she loved them 
And wore them on her breast; 

Of all the flowers that bloomed, she liked 
The apple blossoms best, 

And when we laid her away a bunch 
Of them in her hands was pressed ! 

The rose that blows in the hot-house 

Is rare and fair to see. 
But the fragrance of the blossoms 

Of the dear, old apple tree 
Somehow remains far sweeter 

And lovelier to me ! 



69 



LOVE'S CALENDAR 

Or when 'tis joyous summer time 
Or when the wintry blast howls by — 

Whate'er the land, whate'er the clime, 
'Tis all the same to me, for I 

Find that the longest, dreariesi day 

When thou, my dear, art far away ! 

Or when the ground is white with snow 

And swallows to the South have flown, 
Or when the rose and lily blow, 

Or fruit trees 'neath their burdens 
groan, 
That day is shortest, sweetest, dear, 
When thou, with thy glad smiles, art 
near! 



70 



FELLOWSHIP. 

I sat upon the hillside yesterday 

And saw the fellowship that moved the 
herd; 
I listened to a bell that, far away, 

Called striving men to hear the Savior's 
word, 
And every bud there bursting whispered 

hope 
To every blade upon the verdant slope. 

I journeyed back into the noisy town, 
And mingled with the throng that 
choked the way ; 
I saw men push their weaker fellows 
down, 
And each man's watchword there was: 
"Will it pay?" 
The bell of peace that I had heard before 
Was silent in the turmoil and the roar. 



71 



THE WIND IN THE EVERGREENS. 

When the drifted snow has hidden 

Roads and fences from the sight, 
And the moon floats through the heavens 

Like a frozen thing, at night, 
Flooding all the frigid stretches with a 

ghostly, bluish light, 
I like to lie and conjure 

Up old half forgotten scenes. 
As the savage wind goes howling 

Through the sighing evergreens. 

There's a cottage I remember. 

With an orchard in the rear ; 
There's a winding pathway leading 

To a spring that bubbles near — 
Ah, the dipper that I drank from bears 

the rust of many a year! — 
There's a peach tree near the window 

Of the room where oft I lay 
In the long ago, and listened 

To the wild wind howl away. 

When a range of snowy mountains 
Stretch along the winding lane ; 

AVhen the gently sloping meadow 
Has become an icy plain, 

What a joy it is to snuggle under quilts 
and counterpane, 



72 



THE WIND IN THE EVERGREENS. 

And hear the peach tree creaking, 

At the corner where it leans, 
While the wind goes madly shrieking 

Through the mourning evergreens. 

When the ruminating cattle 

Stand in bedding to their knees; 
When the sheep are warmly sheltered, 

When the horses are at ease, 
And the kittens in the kitchen are as 

happy as you please — 
When father's work is ended, 

And mother sits and sews, 
There's a wondrous mystic music 

In the angry wind that blows. 

Ah, the rambling little sheepfold's 

Weatherbeaten, so they say; 
The horses are no longer 

Munching at the fragrant hay — 
Beneath the old-style kitchen stove no 

happy kittens play * * * 
And, out behind the village church, 

A mossy gravestone leans 
Above two mounds o'er which the wind 

Sighs through the evergreens. 



73 



BLOSSOMS AND FRUIT. 

The bloom of the tree in the spring 
Is a fragrant and beautiful thing, 

But, after all, 
Is it half as sweet or as rare 
As the fruit that is found hanging there 

In the fall? 

A maiden's a beautiful thing — 
A sweet, fresh blossom of spring — 

Careless and wild! 
But rarest and fairest of all 
Is she whose happy tears fall 

On her first-born child! 



74 



THE CRICKET. 

I hear the cricket grinding out his oft 

repeated lay, 
And know the time for leaves to fall is not 

so far away; 
It is a plaintive song he sings and always 

just the same, 
But Nature fixed it so for him, and he is 

not to blame. 

Ah, what a wondrous set of lungs it is 

that he employs! 
There's such a little bit of him and such a 

lot of noise. 
Wherefore this insect brings to mind some 

men who seem to take 
The view that men are measured by the 

noise that they can make. 



75 



THE PAINTED LEAVES. 

CHILD. 

All the trees are gold and crimson and 

they look like pictures now ; 
Did the one who spread the colors do it 

with a brush, or how? 
All the big Outdoors is painted, there is 

color everywhere, 
But I didn't see the artist when he came 

and put it there. 

ANSWER. 

There's an ancient faithful painter, and a 

magic brush he wields; 
'Tis his work you see when looking at the 

woods across the fields; 
Oh, he uses splendid colors, and he shows 

unequaled skill. 
But no child has ever seen him, and no 

maiden ever will. 

CHILD. 

Does he bring his pretty colors in the 

up so 



night when I'm in bed? 
Tell me how he paints the treetops, 
high above his head? 



76 



THE PAINTED LEAVES. 

Does he climb a long, long ladder that 

goes half-way to the sky — 
What if he should ever tumble when he's 

working up so high ! 

ANSWER. 

Yes, when you are sweetly dreaming this 

old artist works away, 
And while you, awake, are playing, he 

keeps toiling on all day ; 
But he needs no lengthy ladder, so put off 

your idle fear, 
He will never fall or fail us in his autumn 

painting, dear. 

CHILD. 

All the leaves are gold and crimson ; what 

an artist he must be! 
And how swiftly he must labor to get 

over every tree! 
But I wish he came in springtime; it's a 

pity, after all, 
That he makes the leaves so pretty just 

before they have to fall! 



77 



OCTOBER DAYS. 

The squirrels are barking in the trees 
And the leaves unto crimson are 
turning. 
And the smell of wood smoke floats along 
on the breeze 
From the brush heaps the farmer is 
burning. 

The song-birds are singing their plaintive 
farewells 
To the brooks that are silently flowing, 
And over the hills comes the tinkling of 
bells 
And the echoes of nutters halloing. 

A sigh for the days that are lost in the 
past, 
When a bare-footed boy did his dream- 
ing, 

When the world spread around him, com- 
placent and vast, 

And his heart never ached after profitless 
scheming. 



78 



NATURE'S FUNERAL DAY. 

O, Indian summer days, 
When the hills are blue with haze, 
And the sounds of tinkling cow-bells come 
afar across the lea, 
What a sense of rest there lies 
In the azure of the skies. 
And what peace there is reflected from 
the bosom of the sea. 

In a holy calm the year 
Is about to disappear, 
Merely merging with the past in solemn, 
sweet solemnity ! 
And I, too, would linger till 
The blue haze is on the hill — 
Serene in Indian summer, when the sum- 
mons comes to me. 



THE WIND AND THE LEAVES. 

The wind is fate, 

The leaves are men — 
They are blown along for a little space, 

And then 
A few emerge and tumble ahead. 

Over and over and over again, 
In a maddening race, 

And here and there 
One lodges and clings in a lonesome place. 
Until, at last, but a single leaf 

Whirls onward into the far Somewhere. 

And the many leaf-men that are left 
behind 

Gather in clusters here and there 
And are whirled about by the wilful wind. 

And, at last, when the great white quilt 
is spread, 
And all is over and done 

They silently lie and slowly rot. 

Each on the barren little spot 
Where its troubles were begun. 



80 



THE DYING YEAR. 

I have no tear for the dying year, 

No wreath of vain regret 
To place with those upon the bier 

That the world will soon forget — 
Let hopeless others turn and gaze 

Back on the fading past, 
And sigh again for blissful days 

That were too sweet to last — 
I have no tear for the dying year 

That the world will soon forget. 

I have no tear for the dying year. 

No sigh for yesterday ; 
The spreading future stretches clear. 

And Hope still points the way ! 
Let him for whom the sun has set 

Bemoan the fading past; 
To him a wreath of vain regret 

For days too sweet to last — 
I have no tear for the dying year. 

Since Hope still points the way. 



8i 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 



THE THINGS THAT ARE DENIED. 

Why must I ever tell him "No" — 

My pleading baby boy? 
The things he craves 'twould please me so 

To witness him enjoy. 
Poor child, he leaves me with a sigh 

And doubting in his mind, 
Because he does not know that I 

Am "'cruel to be kind." 

I long for things I cannot get ; 

In vain I toil away; 
And oft I doubt and grieve and fret 

As he has done to-day. 
Why am I thus denied? Why do 

I seek and fail to find? 
Mayhap my loving Father, too, 

Is "cruel to be kind." 



8k 



THE OLD GRIND. 

Sometimes I look upon the rich 

With envy in my breast, 
And think how pleasant it would be 

To just "saw off" and rest — 
To smoke cigars and loaf around, 

While others worked away — 
With plenty "salted down," of course, 

For the future rainy day. 

Oh what a joy 'twould be to tell 

The man who bosses me 
That I was tired of his style — 

To brace up and be free ! 
And, in the lazy mornings, how 

I'd like to lie abed, 
And what a pleasure to get out 

And be a thoroughbred ! 

Such thoughts I have sometimes, but 
when 

I'm ill and have to stay 
Indoors a day or two, ah, then 

My envy fades away ! 
I think of all the boys at work, 

And know no peace of mind, 
Until they let me out and I 

Resume the good old grind ! 



86 



A HAPPY MAN. 

I have no lofty station, 

Nor riches nor renown — 
An atom in creation, 

I travel up and down — 
I come and go unheeded, 

I toil as millions do, 
But O, I still am needed, 

And gladness claims me, too! 
The sky is blue above me. 

And Hope points out the way — 
You tell me that you love me, 

And you are three to-day. 

I envy not my neighbor 

Whose name is known to men; 
He may not need to labor 

With scythe or pick or pen, 
But yet, despite his riches. 

He still is poor, for he 
Has not the sweet care which is 

Confided unto me ! 
Blue, blue the sky above me 

While Hope points out the way 
And you are here to love me. 

You who are three to-day! 



87 



THE WAYS. 

Do you traverse a way 

That is likely to end 
At Something, some day, 

My friend? 

Or, do you belong 

To the great plodding throng 

On the broad, level way 
That leads to Nowhere — 

That will end, some day. 
In Nothing, out there? 

There are paths leading out 

From this broad, level way — 
You have seen them, no doubt, 

For you pass them each day— 
That lead to Somewhere, 

That glorious place, 
So distant, so fair — 

Like a mirage in space! 

But these pathways, you say, 
Are so stony and steep ! 

And the broad, level way 
Is so easy to keep I 

You have heard of Somewhere, 

And you'd like to go there 
If a way could be found 



THE WATS. 

That was easy, and wound 
In a smooth, broad course that led on 
around 
And up the height, 

Where the city stands, a glorious sight. 
Peopled by only immortals, and where 
There is honor for each that, at last, gets 
there ! 

Ah, there is no way that is level and broad 
Leading up to this glorious place, Some- 
where, 
And no man yet who has only trod 
A way that is easy and smooth and broad 
Has ever succeeded in getting there ! 



A TRANSFOP.MATION. 

Ere you went to live upon "The Avenue" 
You were sweet and fair and jovial 
with me; 
But a sudden change has taken place in 

you, 
Since you've gone to live upon "The 
Avenue," 
And my maid, so fair and free. 
Where, oh haughty one, is she, 
Since you've gone to live upon "The 
Avenue?" 

Since you've gone to live upon "The 
Avenue" 
You are distant, you are stiff, and you 
are cold ; 
You have donned the ugly false and put 

oif the lovely true, 
Since you've gone to live upon "The 
Avenue," 
And my jolly maid of old 
Kneels before a calf of gold, 
Since you've gone to live upon "The 
Avenue." 



90 



THE MAN WHO FAILED. 

With you," he cried, '*to cheer me on 

I'll brush all obstacles away, 
And scale the heights whereon is fame, 
And all the world shall praise thy name 
And envy you, some day." 

Ah, that was many a year ago! 

He hasn't scaled the height. 
But if — oh heaven ! — if he were 
Not sorely handicapped by her, 

He often thinks he might. 



91 



THE MEETING 

One day, in Paradise, 

Two angels, beaming, strolled 
Along the amber walk that lies 

Beside the street of gold. 

At last they met and gazed 

Into each other's eyes. 
Then dropped their harps, amazed, 

And stood in mute surprise. 

And other angels came. 

And, as they lingered near, 
Heard both at once exclaim; 
"Say, how did you get here?" 



92 



i( 



THE ANSWER. 

The great man knelt in prayer: 
"O, Lord of Hosts," he said, 
Permit thy blessing now to rest 

Upon thy servant's head ! — 
Men gnash their teeth and scowl at me, 
O, give them eyes, that they may see! 

"My wordly store is great, O, Lord; 

My power increases day by day; 
Here I bestow, as Thou dost know, 

If there I take away — 
Yet men cry out, reviling me. 
Lord, give them eyes, that they may see! 

"Upon thy footstool, Lord, behold 

A hundred spires rise ! 
Through them thy servant points the way 

To glories in the skies — 
Still, men stand here reviling me, 
O, give them eyes, that they may see!" 

Unto the great man kneeling there 
A Thunderous Voice replied : 
"Thy worldly store indeed is great, 
Thy power vast and wide — 

But who, thou worm, has given to thee 

Authority to act for Me? 



93 



•THE ANSWER. 

I see the traces of thy hand! 

A starving child is there, 
Deep in the shadow of the spire 

That thou hast reared in air! — 
Speak out, thou worm ! Who vested thee 
With power to rearrange for Me? 

Here thou hast taken ten away, 
There thou hast given one — 

Who fixed the toll to be retained 
For this that thou hast done? 

Speak out ! Speak out ! Who vested thee 

With rights to give and take for Me?" 



94 



INNOCENCE. 

She took a fragile flower from a bunch 
against her breast — 

Sweet little maiden that she was! 
Its petals for a moment at her honeyed 
lips were pressed — 

Dainty little maiden that she was! 
Then she bade me sweet "Good day," 
Threw the scented bud away — 
And I watched it where it lay — 

Pretty little maiden that she was! 

I knelt beside the flower where it fell upon 
the floor — 

Tender little maiden that she was ! 
I fondly pressed it to my lips, as she had 
done before — 

Darling little maiden that she was! 
And then, turning suddenly, 
At the corner I could see 
Her slyly watching me — 

Cunning little maiden that she was! 



95 



TEARS AND SMILES. 

The skies cannot always be clear, 

My dear; 
The merriest eye must still have its tear, 

My dear; 
The clouds that are frowning above us 

to-day 
Will presently break and go floating away, 
And the skies will be blue that are sullen 
and gray, 

My dear! 

We can't have just happiness here, 

My dear; 
You would never be glad if you ne'er shed 
a tear, 

My dear; 
The sorrow that lurks in your bosom 

to-day, 
Like the clouds, when you've wept, will 

go floating away. 
And the skies will be blue that are sullen 
and gray. 

My dear! 

If it's going to rain, it will rain. 

My dear; 
No matter how bitterly we may complain. 

My dear; 

96 



TEARS AND SMILES. 

There are sorrows that every good woman 

must bear; 
There are griefs in which every good man 

has a share ; 
It is only the fool who has never a care, 
My dear! 

The skies cannot always be clear, 

My dear; 
Sweets wouldn't be sweet were no bitter- 
ness here, 

My dear; 
There could never be joy if there never 

was sorrow, 
The sobs of to-day are the smiles of 

to-morrow, 
And there's gladness as well as vain 
trouble to borrow. 
My dear! 



97 



THE ONE BELOW. 

I gazed on piles of marble — 

Saw servants come and go, 
And my breast was filled with envy, 

And my soul was steeped in woe. 
* * * 

It was a tired cripple who stopped me at 

the gate. 
And Hope, I saw, was his, although his 

burden was so great; 
And, as I bought his pencils, I saw his 

thankful smile, 
And envy turned to pity, and I bade him 

stay awhile. 

*'And do you, brother, never," I said, 
"bewail your lot? 
And do you never envy men who have 

what you have not? 
Is life still worth the effort, and can you, 

brother, too, 
Still thank your God for favors that he 
has bestowed on you?" 

He smiled, and then he answered: 

"There stands in yonder square 
A blind man who is begging of the people 
passing there : 



98 



THE ONE BELOW. 

He cannot see their faces ; but there, day 

after day, 
He, pleading, stands, with outstretched 

hands, to those that pass his way. 

"I see the bhie of Heaven; I see the 

glorious sun ; 
I see the world, and marvel at the things 

that God has done ; 
And when the day is ended I leave the 

market place, 
And hold my baby in my arms and look 

upon her face ! 

"Sometimes I feel the burden and bend 
beneath its weight ; 

Sometimes I cry aloud against the cruel- 
ties of Fate — 

But there he stands, with outstretched 
hands, before his fellow-men; 

I gaze into his sightless eyes, and I am 
glad again!" 

Ht % H: 

He hobbled on. I watched him 
With painful steps depart; 

He took my pennies with him, 
And left a buoyant heart. 



99 



THE SWEET OLD WAY. 

We live, alas, in an age of greed, 

Greed of power and greed of gain — 
Gold begins and ends our creed. 

We weigh the purse instead of the 
brain ! 
Chivalr3.''s buried, never again 

To be resurrected, so they say — 
But, in spite of the struggle for riches, men 

Still fall in love in the sweet old way. 

The days when honor was all are dead ; 

We have little time for rhyme or art; 
The world of to-day obeys the head, 

We have turned in rebellion against the 
heart; 
But through the rush and the strife and 
the roar, 

Still come the sounds of gentle sighs, 
And men are thrilled as they were of yore 

By the looks of love in women's eyes! 

Fame is no longer for him alone 

That wins in the field or charms with 
his pen ; 
By the lengths of their bank accounts are 
known 
The grades of our modern gentlemen; 



THE SWEET OLD WAT. 

Few of us even have time to pray- 
To the God that is still enthroned 
above — 
But women still charm in the sweet, old 
way, 
And money-mad men still fall in love. 



THE MAN WHO IS NOT NEEDED. 

I'm sixty years of age to-day. 

And I have worked and slaved, 
And someone else shall presently 
Get all that I have saved! 
But it is not 
The simple thought 
Of going that I deplore; 
'Tisthis: When I 
In the cold earth lie. 
They'll think of me no more! 

I've labored on from day to day 

With one hope in my mind, 
'Twas that when I was laid away 
I'd leave a void behind — 
Something, you know, 
To ahvays show 
That I had lived and wrought; 
But now, at last, 
That dream is past — 
I've got to share the common lot. 

I've thrown a fever off to-day 

And risen from my bed ; 
For months I've been but helpless clay, 
With wild thoughts in my head. 
I'd fondly thought 
The mill would not 



I02 



THE MAN WHO IS NOT NEEDED. 

Run if I were not there to see — 

But it kept right on 

While I was gone, 
And that's the thing that saddens me. 



103 



THE BANISHED VISION. 

I saw a splendid castle whose towers cleft 

the air, 
And troops of hurrying servants spoke in 

frightened whispers there ; 
Beside a bed all richly spread the kneeling 

master wept, 
And, pressed against its mother's breast, 

a fragile infant slept. 

Outside the castle gates I saw a ghostly 

rider sit 
Upon a pale, impatient steed that madly 

champed its bit, 
And, as I looked, the gates were swung to 

let the rider through. 
And then a baby's laughter swept the 

castle from my view. 

I turned and kissed a rosy cheek and 

stroked a curly head. 
And pitied him who knelt beside that 

richly-covered bed; 
I heard a happy mother's song, and, 

hearing, was aware 
That gladness may be far away from 

towers that cleave the air. 



104 



THE INFIDEL. 

O man of eloquent speech, 

O man of massive brain. 
What is this thing you preach, 

And what do your followers gain? 
You have seen the stars in the sky, 

You have watched the billows roll, 
You have heard the infant cry, 
You have heard the mother sigh, 
And still you have flowery words to deny 

The existence of the soul ! 

You have searched the Bible through, 

O man of wonderful brain, 
And you hold its fallacies up to view, 

But what do your followers gain? 
You have garnered a wealth of lore. 

And you splendidly deal it out. 
From your lips the flowery sentences pour, 
And men who had simple faith before 

Depart with sickening doubt. 

But I have knelt at a knee, 

O man of wonderful scope. 
And one with a soul has given to me 

The trust that fosters hope ! 
And the simple faith she had to give 

Will live a thousand years for each 



los 



THE INFIDEL. 

Brief year, O man, that you may live, 

To charm with your flowery speech. 
O, man of words that burn, 

O man of words that sway. 
What do you offer in return 

For the faith you would take away? 
The trust she gave was free, 

O man of wonderful brain — 
You would destroy for pelf, but she 

Taught not for selfish gain! 
You have garnered a wealth of lore, 

She was moved by a Mind above; 
You pile up a wordly store — 

She gave from the fountain of love ! 

You have searched the Good Book through, 

O man of massive brain. 
You hold its fallacies up to view — 

You garner gold and you scatter pain ! 
But I have knelt at a knee, 

And I have listened to you. 
And her prayers come back, and I know 
that she 

Who loved me and taught me knew — 
That the word she gave to me 

Is the wonderful word that is true. 



1 06 



HER TEARS. 

Let others bask in her smiles! 

I know 
That her yearning heart is mine, 
Although 
She pretends to be gay 
With another, to-day — 
Last night I caused her tears to flow ! 

She is making a fool of him! 

I know 
'Tis not his love sets her cheeks 
Aglow ! 
Let him bask in her smiles, 
And be fooled by her wiles — 
Last night I caused her tears to flow ! 

Oh, dearer than all her smiles 

May be 
Is the glorious charm of knowing 
That she 
Who pretends to be gay 
With another, to-day, 
Wept, last night, when she quarreled with 
me! 



107 



WORDS IN THE SAND. 

They strolled together on the shore 

He held her little hand, 
And where the waves had dashed before 

They wrote words in the sand. 

They wrote the words that lovers say, 
They joined their names together, 

And merry-hearted took away 
No thoughts of stormy weather. 

The waves of Time have broken o'er 

Her heart and his since then, 
As the waves have washed the sandy shore 

And left it bare again. 

And the words they fashioned in the sand 

Are gone and gone forever, 
For the heart is but a shifting strand. 

Wave-washed — and constant never. 



io8 



HIS NEW SUIT. 

I remember well the way- 
She looked up at me that day 
When I first put on the gray, 

And said good-bye, back there in '63. 
She and I were sweethearts then, 
And I hear her voice again. 

As she nestled up to me, 
Saying in her gentle way: 
'Ah, how brave you look in gray, 
And how tall and handsome, too, 
Gray's the color, dear, for you!" 

There's a ragged suit of gray 
She has long had laid away — 

There are memories that cling around 
it, too; 
But the years have come and gone. 
And at present I have on 

A suit of Uncle Sam's beloved blue. 

When she saw me yesterday 

She wiped a tear away 

For the memory of the gray — 

That dear, old, ragged suit of '63, 
And she sweetly spoke again — 
Spoke more fervently than then 

As she nestled up to me, 



109 



HIS NEW SUIT, 



Saying, in her gentle way : 
'Ah, how brave you looked in gray! 
But you're braver still in blue, 
Blue's the color, dear, for you!" 



no 



VISIONS OF THE PAST. 

THE WEARY ONE, 

The good old days — the good old days — 

ah! life was sweeter then 
Than it is since I must share the cares 

that weigh on toiling men. 
The fruit that grew on the bending trees 

when I was young and free 
Seemed sweeter far and juicier than fruit 

now seems to me. 
Oh, for another happy day back there in 

the long ago, 
Perched in the dear old cherry tree, and 

swinging to and fro! 
And oh for the big red cherries that I ate 

with a relish then, 
For the cherries are all wormy since I 

share the cares of men ! 

THE SAGE. 

Ah! the good old days would cease to 
charm if, with your present tastes, 

You were back again on the lonesome 
farm, with its briers and stony wastes. 

And you didn't enjoy the good old days 
when you had them to enjoy, 



VISIONS OF THE PAST. 

And you wouldn't now if you might again 

be a freckle-featured boy ! 
You think that the fruit was juicier then 

and sweeter than 'tis to-day; 
But fruit still grows upon the trees in the 

same old-fashioned way. 
And you found no worms in your cherries 

then, but 'tis certain that they were 

there ; 
You weren't looking for worms when you 

were a boy, and didn't care! 



112 



WHERE SHE IS. 

I do not mind the rabble in the street, 
The never-ceasing conflict and the whir; 

Around me clatter many tired feet, 
But dreamily I listen unto her. 

She hums a little song and I can hear 
Cool brooklets flowing gently to the sea; 

She smiles, and blossom-laden trees appear 
In fancy's dreamy vistas unto me. 

What matter, if the town be hot and dry? 

"Where she is, fragrant flowers ever 
blow; 
The noise and conflict still go on, but I 

Forget and dream of moments long ago, 
And gleaming sails, that drifted slowly by. 



"3 



GOING WITH THE CROWD. 

Like a ship without a rudder 

That goes drifting here and there, 
Idly tossing, weather beaten, 

Never getting anywhere — 
Veering with the daily changes of the tide, 
On the wave or in the trough, upon her 

side — 
Is the man who merely shuffles 

With the crowd along the way, 
Bringing up to-morrow evening 

Where he started yesterday. 

Better far a wooden dory 

With a purpose that is plain 
Than a stately liner tossing 

Rudderless upon the main! 
Better far to toil obscurely for a time 
On some rocky path no other dares to 

climb 
Than carelessly to shuffle 

With the crowd along the way, 
Bringing up to-morrow evening 

Where you started yesterday. 

I greet the man who bravely 

Takes a course and fares along — 

Turns his steps into some rugged 
Path untrodden by the throng ; 



114 



GOING WITH THE CROWD. 

Fame is deftly interlacing laurels now 
To be wreathed upon the lonely toiler's 

::; brow- 

Leaves that never come through drifting 
With the crowd along the way, 

Bringing up to-morrow evening 
Where you started yesterday ! 



"5 



THE COURSE OF LOVE. 

'Twas midnight, and the silvery moon 

Beamed down upon the scene 
Where Harold planned to carry off 

The lovely Geraldine. 
He was a brave and handsome lad, 

She was as sweet as fair, 
But, oh, her heavy-fisted dad 

Opposed the loving pair. 

He came out from behind a tree — 

He gave the cuckoo's call. 
And waited for the lovely maid 

Who held his heart in thrall. 
Eftsoons she softly raised the sash, 

And whispered: "I am here"; 
He ceased to gnaw his young mustache, 

And cried: "Hist! Hist! my dear!' 

She "histed" once; she "histed" twice, 

Her father snored awa}^ ; 
The lover dragged his ladder up. 

And brought it into play; 
He stood upon the lowest round. 

While she leaned out above — 
The moon was happy to have found 
This blissful scene of love. 

'And are you sure," the maiden cried, 
"That you will ever be 



;i6 



THE COURSE OF LOVE. 

As brave and true as you are now, 

And always cherish me?" 
'As long," the lover made reply, 
"As yonder moon doth shine 
And take her course across the sky, 

I'll love you, my divine!" 

He took another upward step, 

Her heart began to quake; 
Oh, what," she thought, "would happen 
now 

If father should awake?" 
Up, up, the happy lover crept 

Till she could feel his breath, 
And still the cruel father slept. 

And all was still as death. 

Another step, another round, 

And then their lips would meet — 
Alas! the ladder broke, and he 

Fell twenty-seven feet! 
The clatter would have raised the dead, 

It raised her sleeping sire. 
Who quickly bounded out of bed, 

Nor sought to curb his ire. 

They found the lover lying low, 

His clothes were badly torn; 
He'd fallen in a bramble-bush, 

And met with many a thorn. 
At last they brought him round again. 

Her father bade him go. 
He didn't stop to argue then. 

And it was better so ! 



117 



THE C O URSE OF LO VE. 

Ah, that was many years ago, 

They're married, he and she, 
But each unto another, and 

As happy as can be. 
She has a son that she's afraid 

May throw himself away — 
And he's the father of a maid 

He watches well, to-day! 



ii8 



IF. 

When all is over, 

And the dear one lies 
Under the cover 
Of blossoms and clover — 

When the kind, weary eyes 
Are sightless forever — 
How thick and how vast do the ugly 
"if's" rise! 
"If I had been kinder— if I had obeyed, 
The hand of the reaper, mayhap, had 
been staved ! 
O, if I had thought, O, if I had cared, 
What heart-breakmg sorrows might she 
have been spared!" 

O, happy the lover, 

Thrice happy the son, 
If, when all is over 

And the dear, patient one 
Lies under the cover 
Of blossoms and clover. 
No "ifs" come trooping to taunt and 
torment ! 
O happy his lot 
Who can say: "I would not 
Undo or change aught — " 
Who requited her love ere she went! 



119 



IF. 

When all is over 

And the dear one lies 
Under the cover 
Of blossoms and clover. 

When the kind, weary eyes 
Are sightless forever, 
O would that there never 

Were "ifs" to arise! 



1 20 



MISS "I-DON'T-CARE." 

She is sweet, petite, and witty, 

But, alas, she's heartless, too! 
If you know her, oh, I pity — 

From my soul I pity you! 
Half a hundred hearts are breaking 

For this maid, so sweet, so fair — 
She with merriment is shaking, 

And exclaiming, "I don't care!" 

"Maiden," cried I once, "I love you; 
Let me claim your heart as mine; 
Every star that is above you 

But for you would cease to shine!' 
"Ah, you foolish, foolish fellow. 
Why bore me with this affair?" 
She repUed, in accents mellow, 
"Let the stars fall, I don't care!" 

"But my heart is fiercely burning! 
I must win your love!" I cried; 
Smiling cruelly, and turning 
Half away, the maid replied: 
"Ah, your breast is all on fire! 
That is awful, I declare! 
Still, if you will build a pyre 
In your bosom I don't care!" 

Fifty times I've knelt before her 
And in many ways I've sought 



121 



M/SS ♦'/ DON'T-CARE:'' 

To invoke a love spell o'er her, 
But it all has come to naught! 

Yesterday I swore I'd die if 

She my fortune would not share — 

'Die then," said she, with a sigh, "if 
That will help you — I don't care!" 



122 



HAPPINESS. 

'I would be happy," Greed's slave cries, 

"Could I but learn some way 
To win the great, elusive prize 
That ever flees from me — 
I would be happy could I be 
A millionaire to-day." 

'I would be happy," Youth cries out 

"If Fate would grant me fame! 
O, that I might hear people shout 
My praises as I passed along — 
O, that in story and in song 
I might embalm my name!" 

Behold where happiness is found : 

Beneath yon spreading tree 
A fool, half stretched upon the ground, 
Holds in his teeth a bit of clay 
And blows white rings of smoke 

away — 
From sad ambition free. 



23 



THE MAN OF FAITH. 

He is the bravest man 

Who has the faith to feel 
That God's above to guide 

Him on through woe or weal — 
To him who has no doubt 

How can there come a fear? 
He plunges in or rushes out, 

Believing God is near, 
And, though by dangers hedged about 

Pursueth his career. 
For where there lurketh doubt, 

There, only, can be fear. 

He is the strongest man 

Who has the faith sublime 
To feel that he is kept 

In God's view all the time; 
He calmly goes his way. 

When once that way is plain, 
And keeps ascending day by day 

The height he is to gain ; 
The part that God gave him to play 

He plays with might and main. 
And never wanders from the way, 

Since God has made it plain. 

O, for the faith that lifts 
Men over earth's affairs — 



124 



THE MAN OF FAITH. 

The faith that strengthens hearts 

And blots out human cares! 
To him who has no doubt 

How can there come a fear? 
He plunges in or rushes out, 

Believing God is near. 
And, though by dangers hedged about, 

Pursueth his career, 
For where there lurketh doubt, 

There, only, can be fear. 



125 



LIVING IT OVER. 

If I had my life to live over, 

And could know what I know to-day; 
If I could go back 
O'er the uneven track, 
I would travel a different way. 
The prospect beyond me is gloomy, 
My pathway is rocky and steep: 
I must toil, though I know 
That the crops which I sow 
Are only for others to reap! 
Alas for the years that I've squandered, 

And the chances I've frittered away! 
Would that I might live it all over, 
Knowing life as I know it to-day!" 

'And if it were all to live over, 

If you knew all you know to-day. 
If you could go back 
O'er the uneven track, 
You would still sing your pitiful lay, 
For the man who sits idle, regretting 
The chances that lie in the past 
Is never the one 
Whose work is well done, 
However his fortunes are cast ! 
There's a use for the years that are 
squandered 



126 



LIVING IT OVER. 

And the chances men fritter away; 
The man who succeeds is the man who 
can build 
On the failures of yesterday." 



127 



THE QUARREL. 

"There are quite as good fish 
In the sea --^ 

As anyone ever has caught," 
said he. 

"But few of the fish- 
In the sea 
Will bite at such bait as you've got," 
Said she. 

To-day he is gray and his line's put away, 
But he often looks back with regret ; 

She's still "in the sea," and how happy 
she'd be 
If he were a fisherman yet! 



128 



THE MAN WHO DIDN'T RISE. 

He worked away 
From day to day 
Year in, year out, he came and went; 
And others passed him in the race 
And lines began to mark his face, 
And in his breast was discontent. 

"I wonder why," 
He moaned, "that I 
Am stranded here, as on a rock? 

While others rise I'm doomed to stay!' 
And, ever as he worked away. 
He kept one eye upon the clock. 



129 



LOVE'S MIRROR. 
I. 

The sky was draped with somber clouds, 

A chill was in the air; 
My love was cold and gloominess 

Extended everywhere. 

I mingled with the busy throng, 

And scanned the faces there ; 
Each seemed a living mirror of 

Bereavement or despair. 

II. 

My loved one smiled upon me and 

The world was bright again ; 
E'en though the wind blew from the north 

It did not chill me then. 

Again I mingled with the throng, 

And sav/ but gladness when 
I peered into the faces of 

Those erst unhappy men. 



130 



CONTENTMENT. 

The man who grinds me down and thrives 

upon my daily toil 
Owns acres by the thousand, while I've 

not a foot of soil ; 
And in his vaults 'tis said that he has 

millions stored away, 
While I must labor for the things I need 

from day to day, 
Yet I would not change places with this 

multi-millionaire, 
For I have peace of mind, while he is 

weighted down with care ! 

I have a wife and little ones, who fill my 

foolish heart, 
While he, in crusty loneliness, is doomed 

to live apart ! 
He never felt two little arms around his 

wrinkled neck; 
He is not loved, although his gold is 

measured by the peck; 
He cannot go to bed at night and slumber 

as I can — 
No, no! I would not, if I could, change 

places with this man ! 

And when the labor of the day is done 
and I repair 



131 



CONTENTMENT. 

Unto my humble home, to eat the dinner 

steaming there, 
Ah, what a joy awaits me then! What 

prince's appetite 
Could ever be compared to that which I 

have every night? 
But, as for him — the millionaire — he 

lunches on a crust. 
Because dyspepsia mocks at him, and tells 

him that he must! 

Oh, let this sallow, wrinkled man grind on 

and save and save, 
And I will be content to keep on toiling 

as a slave ; 
Oh, let him have his sleepless nights, while 

happy dreams are mine; 
Oh, let him be the upas tree that holds no 

clinging vine ! 
Though he has wealth that lifts him high 

in thoughtless people's sight, 
I'll never envy him while I can soundly 

sleep at night. 



132 



LINES TO A COBBLER. 

Men look upon him with disdain, 

And scout his humble trade ; 
Poor soul, he has no teeming brain. 

No learning to parade! 
He only sits, from day to day. 

And plies his awl and thread ; 
No tender fancies ever play 

'Round that dull, grizzled head. 

Still, be not hasty to despise 

This man of humble parts, 
For, though he has not drawn a prize. 

In choosing of the arts, 
His awl obeys a master's hand, 

And, oh, to be supreme 
In any honest thing is grand 

Beyond the poet's dream! 



133 



LOST CANDOR. 

I used to hold her on my knees, 

And softly stroke her sunny curls; 
I used to pat her dimpled cheeks. 

And call her loveliest of girls ; 
She used to look into my eyes, 

And smile and nestle down, serene — 
But that was when the maid was four, 

And I had just turned seventeen. 

I met her yesterday again, 

She placed a little hand in mine; 
She looked into my eyes and then 

I saw a blush that was divine ! 
I thought of those old days when we 

Had romped around upon the green- 
When she was four and frank and free, 

And I had just turned seventeen. 

Ah, would that I might speak to her 

As freely as I did of yore ; 
Would that she w^ere as frank with me 

As when she was a child of four ! 
But words that I would say to-day 

Unto this graceful little queen 
Forsake me, since I'm thirty-one 

And she is stately and eighteen. 



134 



THE LITTLE OLD CHURCH 
DOWN TOWN. 

Down in the smoke, where the roar and 
the rush 

Of traffic is heard all day ; 
Where the cars and the trucks and the 
carriages crush 

The cripple that gets in the way ; 
Surrounded by buildings that tower above 

And flanked by a bright bit of sod — 
An oasis left there in the desert of trade — 

Is a spot that belongs to God. 

I steal through the half-open door and sit 
down 
In an old-fashioned pew to dream — 
To forget the roar of the money-mad 
town — 
And through a memorial window a 
beam 
Of God's sweet sunlight forces itself, 
And illumines the dark old place ; 
And a smile of sweet welcome seems to 
spread 
O'er the pictured Saviour's face. 

And so for a while my mind is free 
From the world and its mad affairs. 



135 



THE LITTLE OLD CHURCH 
DOWN TOWN. 

Again my mother sits next to me, 
And I hear her whispered prayers! 

O, bhssf ul hour ! O, sacred spot, 

What sweet old memories do ye bring! 

O, cramped and crowded house of God, 
What glories still around thee cling ! 

Again I can hear the sweet old chimes, 

As I slowly move away. 
And I'm better for thinking of those old 
times — 
I've communed with Him to-day! 
Surrounded by buildings that tower 
above, 
And flanked by a bit of sod, 
There is rest, there is hope, there is happi- 
ness 
On this spot that belongs to God. 



136 



SINCE SHE'S AWAY. 

She's gone away — 

The sky is blue, 
But it was bluer yesterday ; 

The breeze, I trow, was sweeter, too, 
Before she went away. 

She's gone away — 

There seems to be 
A lack of something here, to-day ; 

The town is dead and drear to me 
Since she has gone away. 

She's gone away — 

I never knew, 
Until she started, yesterday, 

How fair she was, how helpful, too — 
And she is far — so far away ! 

She's gone away — 

I would that she 
Were coming back again, to-day. 

For it has just occurred to me 
How dear she is, since she's awav! 



137 



ON LIFE'S LADDER. 
I. 

For him who seeks to rise few hands reach 

down to claim his grip, 
Few warning words are heard above to 

save him from a sHp; 
Each upward step he takes must be 

through efforts of his own, 
For everyone that's gained the top would 

like to be alone ! 

IL 

For him who stumbles on the way a 

thousand hands reach out 
To grasp and pull him down into the 

misery-haunted rout ! 
There's scanty welcome at the top for him 

that wins, but oh 
What joyous greetings does he get who 

joins the ranks below ! 



138 



A WISH. 

If some good fairy were to come 

To me to-day and say : 
One wish I have to grant to thee — 
One wish, come say, what shall it be? 

And have it while you may," 

Dost think that I would ask for wealth, 

Or for unbounded fame? 
Nay, riches would not charm me then. 
Nor power to wield a glorious pen 

Would be the boon I'd claim. 

But I would make this simple wish : 

That I might once more stand 
Back in the happy days of old, 
With faith in the rainbow's pot of gold 
And glad behef in fairy land! 



139 



PASSING OF A GOOD SAMARITAN. 

Lay him away, 

It matters not where ; 
Dig a hole in the ground, 

And deposit him there ; 
'Twill be useless to raise 

A shaft o'er his head, 
For Heaven's aware 

Of the fact that he's dead! 

Lowly his lot, 

And humble his sphere ; 
The world — the big, busy world knew not 
That he ever was sent to minister here ; 
He gathered no millions, he built up no 
trusts, — 
He cornered no markets, robbed no one 
of bread ; 
His raiment was ragged, he lived upon 
crusts — 
But Heaven's aware of the fact that 
he's dead! 

Did he worship in church 

In the orthodox way? 
Did the rafters ring when 

It was his turn to pray? 
Alas, I know not — 

But let it be said 



140 



I'ASS/JVG OF A GOOD SAMARITAN. 

That Heaven's aware 

Of the fact that he's dead! 

The orphan he fanned 

Through feverish days 
May live or may not 

To cherish his praise; 
The sick that he nourished when stricken 
himself, 
The starving- that, when he was hungry, 
he fed 
May pray for him now, or may not, as 
they list — 
But Heaven's aware of the fact that 
he's dead! 

Lay him away. 

It matters not where ; 
Dig a hole in the earth. 

And deposit him there ; 
When the last trumpet sounds 

He will hear, he will hear 
As well as the man 

O'er whose head people rear 
The highest of columns — 

Aye, put him to bed ! 
If there is a God He will not forget 

That this lowly man lived — and is dead ! 



141 



"WHEN THE DEVIL WAS SICK." 

A man who had delved in the lore of the 
ages 
And could tell you the weight of the 
stars, 
Who had added wise words unto Science's 
pages 
And written an essay on Mars, 
Arrived at the startling conclusion, one 

day, 
That lawyers who plead and preachers 
who pray, 
And doctors who claim to subdue peo- 
ple's ills 
With scalpels and nostrums and poison- 
ous pills 
Were nothing but swindlers, each in his 
way. 

But the man who had delved in the lore 

of the ages 
And studied the far-away stars, 
Who had earned the proud right to be 

classed with the sages, 
One day got in front of the cars ! 
They picked him up tenderly ; put him to 

bed, 
And, as he lay groaning and moaning, 

half-dead. 



142 



''WHEN THE DEVIL WAS SICK.'' 

A preacher came in and knelt down at 

his side 
And called on the God that the sage 

had denied, 
And he heartily joined in the prayers that 

were said. 

Yet the man who had delved in the lore of 
the ages, 
And could name all the stars in the sky, 
Who had added wise words unto Science's 
pages, 
Was not quite ready to die ! 
He summoned a surgeon and patiently lay 
While the "brute of a butcher" was saw- 
ing away: 
He took all the poisons they gave him 

to take. 
Forgetting that "doctoring's only a 
fake" — 
And arose and hobbled away, one day. 

Now the man who has delved in the lore 
of the ages 
And can tell you the names of the stars. 
Who has earned the proud right to be 
classed with the sages 
And was knocked galley west by the 
cars — 
Who prayed when he thought he was go- 
ing to die, 
Who, ill, sent for him of whom, well, he 
fought shy. 
Has hired a lawyer to take up his case — 
To sue for the damages done to his face 
And the leg that he lost when the train 
went by. 

143 



THE MAN WHO WAS FORGOTTEN. 

"Set him there, where he may see me; 

Let me hold his little hand ; 
Keep my memory before him 

So that he may understand. 
Let him look upon my visage 

As I draw my latest breath ; 
Let him close my eyes, when, sightless, 

They shall stare at him, in death. 

"Let him look; he may remember! 
In the years to come, perchance 
He may still recall his father, 

Back across the dim expanse. 
God, thou hast been kind — I thank 
Thee! 
Thou hast given me to see 
Him whose flesh is mine — I pray Thee 
Let my son remember me." 

The wondering child bent over, 

And he kissed his father's brow; 
They that listened heard the grating 

Of the sable boatman's prow; 
There were tears and sobs and sighing, 

But the father only smiled, 
And, in death, still gazed up fondly 

At the prattling little child. 



144 



THE MAN WHO WAS FORGOTTEN. 

Envoy. 

There's a gravestone that is mossy, and a 

name is carved thereon; 
There's a wife that once was widowed, 

but the years have come and gone ; 
There's a son to whom a father's tender 

love is all unknown, 
And the name he bears is not the name 

that's carved upon the stone! 



145 



A SONG FOR THE SELFISH. 

When you and I were young, my dear, 
Ere lines had marked your brow, 

Ere God had sent the loved ones here 
That cling about us now^ 

When you and I were free from care, 

We thought the world was very fair — 
When you and I were young, my dear. 

But we are older now, my dear, 

And worried by the cares 
Of those who cling around us here 

And have their love affairs — 
Ere you were grieved by others' woes 
You were as radiant as a rose, 

But now your brow has furrows, dear. 

When you and I were young, my dear, 
We thought the Lord was good. 

But that was ere we had to bear 
The weight of parenthood! — 

The cares of those we love, sweetheart, 

A spice to human joys impart, 

And feed the hungry soul, my dear. 

When you and I were young, my dear, 

And neither knew a care, 
I trod a pathway that was clear, 

And led you, trembling, there — 
But the happiness of careless days 
Has broadened in a hundred ways 

Since others cling about us, dear ! 

146 



WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO 
HAPPEN. 

He grubbed away on a patch of ground, 
"Waiting for something to happen;" 
Year after year the same old round, 
"Waiting for something to happen;" 
The moments he had to spare he spent 

In ' ' waiting for something to happen ;" 
His hair grew gray, his shoulders bent, 
But he grubbed and he loafed, and was 
content 
To "wait for something to happen." 

His tools wore out, and his ground grew 

poor, 
"Waiting for something to happen," 
But he grubbed and he loafed and he 
still was sure 
That "something would some day 
happen," 
And many a chance he let go past, 
"Waiting for something to happen," 
Until there came a day at last 
When clods above his head were cast — 
Something had finally happened ! 



147 



WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE. 

He looked at my tongue and he shook his 
head — 
This was Doctor Smart — 
He thumped on my chest, and then he 
said: 
"Ah, there it is! Your heart! 
You mustn't run — you mustn't 

hurry 1 
You mustn't work — you mustn't 
worry ! 
Just sit down and take it cool ; 

You may live for years, I cannot say ; 
But, in the meantime, make it a rule 
To take this medicine twice a day!" 

He looked at my tongue, and he shook 
his head — 
This was Dr. Wise — 
'Your liver's a total wreck," he said, 
"You must take more exercise! 
You mustn't eat sweets, 
You mustn't eat meats. 
You must walk and leap, you must also run ; 
You mustn't sit down in the dull old 
way; 
Get out with the boys and have some 
fun — 
And take three doses of this a day!" 



148 



WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE. 

He looked at my tongue, and he shook 
his head — 
This was Dr. Bright— 
"I'm afraid your lungs are gone," he said, 
"And your kidney isn't right. 
A change of scene is what you need, 
Your case is desperate, indeed. 
And bread is a thing you mustn't eat — 

Too much starch — but, by the way. 
You must henceforth live on only meat — 
And take six doses of this a day!" 

Perhaps they were right, and perhaps 
they knew, 
It isn't for me to say; 
Mayhap I erred when I madly threw 
Their bitter stuff away ; 

But I'm living yet and I'm on my 

feet, 
And grass isn't all I dare to eat. 
And I walk and I run and I worry, too. 

But, to save my life, I cannot see 
What some of the able doctors would do 
If there were no fools like you and me. 



149 



A RESURRECTION. 

"Ah, Love is dead," 

She said ; 
"Flown through the open door! 

Never more 
While the sad winds blow 
And the sad brooks flow 

Shall there be 

For me 
The old, sweet, happy thrill — 

Joy has fled. 
And the world is dark and still, 

For Love is dead!" 

She heard a sigh. 
Sweet and low! 
Her heart beat high, 
She forgot her woe, 
And the glad wind blew, 
And the sun burst through 
The clouds o'erhead — 
The darkness fled, 

And then 
She looked with joy 
On the laughing boy — 
For Love was alive again! 



150 



FAITH. 

When the sky is blue and friends are true, 

And Fortune, fickle dame, 
Bestows her winning smile on you, 

With faith you are aflame. 
Then you can easily believe 

The words the preacher says, 
And for your erring brother grieve, 

And join in songs of praise. 

But, when the somber clouds descend 

And fortune wears a frown. 
When you in vain approach your friend — 

In fact, when you are "down" — 
Ah ! then can you your faith retain, 

Your voice in pleading raise, 
And say God's purposes are plain, 

And join in songs of praise? 



151 



THE SEARCH FOR GOLD. 

The gray Vv^olf scratches upon the door, 
While the fierce wind shrieks away, 

And a woman lies prone on her cabin floor 
And a little child shouts at play. 

The pine trees moan on a mountain side, 
Where a man lies stiff and cold, 

And stares at the far-away stars, dull-eyed, 
And grasps a nugget of gold. 

Let the gray wolf howl, let the mother 
weep. 

Let the little one shriek at the blast — 
Ah, what cares he who is lying asleep, 

Has he not found wealth, at last? 



152 



THE MAN WHO HADN'T TIME. 

He never had time to play, 

He never had time to rest, 
But he worked away and thought of a day 

When what he had done would attest 
The usefulness of his life, 

His worth as a man among men ; 
Then he would quit the strife — 

He would rest on his laurels then. 

As a bondman chained he slaved, 

Ever looking ahead ; 
As a miser he hoarded and saved, 

Grudging his daily bread ! 
Beyond was a happy day — 

Nearer and nearer it drew — 
When his work should be put away 

And care should be banished, too ! 

At last, upon a day. 

When the sun was low in the West, 
He put his work away. 

And sat him down to rest. 
But where was the dreamed-of bliss? 

And why was it now denied? 
Things seemed to be going amiss — 

So he brooded awhile and died. 



153 



THE QUARREL IN THE 
CORNFIELD. 

Up on the hill where the sweet breeze is 

blowing, 
I see the long rows of the ripening corn ; 
There by the fence where the tall grass is 

growing, 
Is the jug of sweet cider, beneath the 

white thorn. 
And the swish of the cutters that cleave 

through the stalks, 
And the song of the wind, as it blows 

through the shocks. 
Come as plainly again as they did on the 

day 
That I threw down the cutter and strutted 

away. 

I see the big, yellow, ribbed pumpkins 

that cover 
The ground where the corn has been 

taken away — 
Ah, there is a flock of wild geese flying 

over. 
Bound for some far-distant Southern 

bay, 
And I hear the stern tones of my father 

again, 



154 



THE QUARREL IN THE CORNFIELD. 

Bidding me go, as he coldly did then, 
And again in my throat I can feel the 

lump rise. 
And again the hot tears tumble out of my 

eyes! 

O, for the hill where the sweet breeze is 

blowing. 
As in the fair autumn it ever blows 

there ! 
O, for a taste of the sweet cider flowing 

Out of the jug tilted high in the air! 
O, for a rest from the roar and the rush. 
From the pushing, the crowding, the 

carnage, the crush ! 
O, for the swish of the blades through the 

stalks, 
And the song of the wind, as it blows 

through the shocks ! 

But the hill's far away, and the years 

have been speeding 
Some other is cutting the corn that 

waves there. 
And the wind sings away through the 

shocks, all unheeding 
The pain that grew out of a foolish 

affair! — 
O, for a sight of the corn on the hill, 
O, for the sound of a voice that is still. 
And O, for the years that have sped since 

the day 
That I threw down the cutter and strutted 

away. 

155 



LOVE ASLEEP. 

They builded air castles together, 

They wished by the stars in the skies, 

They played in the fields in fair weather. 
And the love light crept into her eyes; 

She sighed, but he laughed, and his 
laughter 

Came back in sad echoes years after — 
The love light shone out of her eyes. 

The maiden bound up her long tresses, 
And men praised her form and her face; 

No more did she romp in short dresses, 
A woman had taken her place ; 

But he saw not what Love had completed. 

As the boy treats the maiden he treated 
The woman who stood in her place. 

One day the doves cooed in May weather, 
And a stranger looked into her eyes; 

One day they departed together. 

And a boy fell to earth from the skies — 

A boy with a heart that was breaking 

And a love that, at last, was awaking. 
Fell headlong to earth from the skies. 



156 



THIS QUEER OLD WORLD. 

It is queer how things go by contraries 
here, 
'Tis always too cold or too hot, 
And the prizes we miss, you know, always 
appear 
To be better than those that we've got; 
It is always too wet, or too dusty and dry. 

And the land is too rough or too flat. 
There's nothing that's perfect beneath the 
blue sky 

— But— 
It's a pretty good world, for all that. 

Some people are born but to dig in the 
soil. 
And sweat for the bread that they eat. 
While some never learn the hard meaning 
of toil 
And live on the things that are sweet ; 
A few are too rich and a lot are too poor, 

And some are too lean or too fat — 
Ah, the hardships are many that men 
must endure, 

— But— 
It's a pretty good world for all that. 

The man who must think envies them 
that must be 



157 



THIS ^UEER OLD WORLD. 

Ever pounding and digging for men, 
And the man with the pick would be 
happy if he 
Might play with the brush or the pen! 
All things go by contraries here upon 
earth, 
Life is empty and sterile and flat ; 
Man begins to complain on the day of his 
birth, 

— But— 
It's a pretty good world for all that ! 



:58 



THE RECOMPENSE, 

Sometimes I wonder if the man 

Who wins renown on earth 
Finds that the plaudits of the crowd 

Are of exalted worth. 
I wonder if, when in the tomb 

His wasted clay is laid, 
The labor and the loneliness 

He knew have been repaid. 

I wonder if the common man. 

Who drifts along through life, 
Content with love and praises from 

His children and his wife, 
Has not less cause to murmur at 

The firm decrees of fate 
Than he that frets for future men 

To find that he was great? 



159 



A FEW BOYS. 



SONG FOR THE FIRST BORN. 

Two twinkling stars of wonderful size 
Disappeared from the sky one night, 
And these are my dear little romancer's 
eyes, 
And, oh, he must close them tight ! 
Sweet little wanderer, go to sleep; 
Dear little curly head, mustn't peep — 
Two sleepy eyes of wonderful size. 
And a sweet little kiss, good night! 

A little white cloud had a wonderful fall 

From out of the sky, one night, 
And tnis is his bed and his pillow and all. 
So white and so soft and so light! 
Sweet little wanderer, go to sleep: 
Dear little curly-head, mustn't peep ! — 
The cloud is his bed and his pillow and all, 
So a sweet little kiss, good night ! 

The wind sang a song to the fairies that 
lay 
Asleep in the flowers, one night, 
And this is the song that is dying away, 
As fancy is winging its flight! 

Sweet little wanderer doesn't peep; 
Dear little curly-head's gone to 
sleep! — 
And this is the song that is dying away . 
In the dreams of my darling, to-night! 

163 



THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS. 

I'm jist as glad as I can be, 

And I won't lie no more, 
Nor make my mamma cry for me 

The way I have before ; 
I'll never, never run away, 

Nor swear again, because — 
I don't care what bad people say — 

They is a Santa Glaus! 

Some bigger boys 'an me, at school, 

Said Santa was a hoax. 
Somebody started once, to fool 

The little bits of folks; 
They told me that my teacher knew 

And grandpa understood — 
That your parents told you stories to 

Jist git you to be good. 

Nen I went and runned away, 

And I was awful bad ; 
I swored a lot of times that day, 

Because I was so mad ! 
I'd been as good as I could be 

Since way back in the fall^ 
And they was no Santa Claus to see 

Or know it, after all ! 

But when I'd got all tucked in bed 
I heard pa say, that night, 



164 



THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS. 

Old Santa Claus had got a sled 
And skates fer me, all right — 

He didn't know I heard him, though, 
Nen I cried, because 

I'd been so bad all day, and oh. 
They was a Santa Claus! 

So I got out of bed, at last, 

And climbed up on his knee. 
And when he stroked my head I ast 

If Santa'd pardon me; 
I told him all about how I'd 

Runned off and swored that day. 
And mamma she set there and cried, 

And pa he looked away! 

But purty soon he petted me, 

And after while he said: 
'Well, never mind, jist wait and see — 

You'll git the skates and sled ! 
Those bad boys don't know what they 
say — 
Go back to sleep — for laws ! 
'Thout him we'd have no Christmas 
day — 
'Course they's a Santa Claus!" 



165 



THE BOY WHOSE PA HAS 
SPELLS. 

I've jist been down with Tommy Brown 

And helpin' him to fly 
A kite what his pa made for him, 

Way up into the sky. 
His pa he lets him play all day 

And have the mostest fun ! 
He's got a goat he drives around, 

And a nawful nice air gun, 
And his pa often plays with him, 

And every circus day 
They go to see the show, and oh 

Wisht my pa treated me that way ! 

My pa he stays away some nights 

Till awful, awful late, 
And so my ma she has to set 

Up all alone and wait, 
And then, next morning, my, but he 

Does tear around and jaw, 
And if I speak he strikes at me 

And does the same to ma, 
And when he's gone ma has to cry 

Hard as she ever can — 
Some day I'll take her part when I 

Grow up to be a man ! 



1 66 



THE BOr WHOSE PA HAS SPELLS. 

I guess 'at my pa never was 

No little boy at all, 
For he don't never want to fly 

No kites nor bat the ball — 
But wunst he stood and looked at me 

A long, long time, and I 
Was 'fraid he'd whip me, so I had 

To jist give up and cry, 
And then he come and stroked my head 

And didn't never speak, 
But jist bent down and hugged me 

And kissed me on the cheek, 
And then I cried more harder 

Than I ever cried before. 
And, oh, I wisht that some time he 

Would love me so some more ! 

Most other boyses pas they play 

With them sometimes, but my 
Pa he don't never play with me, 

Nor make no kites to fly, 
And I can't go to circuses 

Like all the other boys. 
And they are always tellin' me 

How their pas buy them toys. 
And their pas never punish them 

Unless they're awful bad — 
If my pa was that kind to me. 

Oh, wouldn't I be glad! 

Sometimes when he comes home at night 
And I've been sleepin' sound. 

He wakes me up and then I lay 
And hear him stompin' round, 

167 



THE BOr WHOSE PA HAS SPELLS. 

And then, next mornin', ma she cries 

And says he wasn't well — 
When I ast her what the trouble was — 

He's had another spell ! — 
I'm awful sorry for the boys 

Whose pas has spells, for, oh, 
When his spells come he gits so mad, 

And ma she takes it so ! 

But if, some day, he'll only stand 

And look at me again 
The way he did that first time, and 

Be just like he was then — 
Oh, then, I won't care if he don't 

Make kites for me to fly. 
And, oh, I'll be so happy if 

He'll only make me cry, 
By bein' good to me, because 

Most fun I ever had 
Was when I felt so awful bad 

Because I was so glad ! 



1 68 



CONFESSIONS OF LITTLE WILLIE. 

Pa says they ain't no spooks at all, Ni 

s'pose he ought to know, 
'Cause he knows nearly everything worth 

knowin' here below; 
He says 'at only fraidy calfs believes 

they's ghosts around, 
For people can't git back on earth when 

you put 'em under ground. 

I don't believe in spirits when the sun is 

shinin' bright, 
And I can hear folks talk, or they's a 

livin' thing in sight, 
If they is jist a cat or dog around me I'm 

prepared 
For anythinsf 'at comes along, and ain't 

a bit a-scared. 

But sometimes I come home from school 

when ma's away, and then 
I go a-sneakin' up the stairs, and then 

sneak down again, 
And think I'll find the doughnuts or the 

raisins or the jam — 
And then I hear somebody step — or a 

door shuts with a slam. 

I know as well as I'm alive they ain't 
nobody there. 



169 



COJVFBSSIOJVS OF LITTLE WILLIE. 

But shivers creep along my back, and I 

can feel my hair 
Raise right straight up and stand as stiff 

as bristles on my head — 
And I believe in ghosts in spite of all pa 

ever said. 

I dassent turn around and look, for I'm 

afraid I'll see 
Some big white thing without no head 

a-standin' back of me — 
But after while I whistle or else I sing, 

and then 
Go out and run around the yard and git 

braced up again. 

And when it's dark at night, and I wake 

up and lay in bed, 
I can't keep ugly thoughts of ghosts from 

gittin' in my head. 
And then I hear pa snorin', and my 

blood gits froze, almost. 
For every snore sounds like the groan of 

some poor sinner's ghost. 

Pa says they ain't no ghosts, and I talk 

big, sometimes, and laugh 
At Eddie Gray, 'cause he believes, and 

call him fraidy calf. 
But when I do bad things and then am 

all alone, by Jinks, 
I know they's ghosts a-snoopin' round, in 

spite of what pa thinks ! 



170 



WHEN SORROWS COME. 
Oh, come to me, dear little baby boy, 



come 



Let me snuggle you close to my heart; 
Oh, come, let me kiss the poor, hurt little 
thumb, 
And so take away all the smart ! 
There, there, little one. 
You see it is gone. 
Now, dry up your tears and away. 

For the sun is scarce up ere the night is 
begun. 
So don't miss a moment of play ! 

Oh, come to me, dear little baby boy, 
come ! 
When childhood has faded behind. 
With the smart in your heart instead of 
your thumb. 
And troubles beclouding your mind — 
Oh, come to me then, 
Let me cheer you again. 
As I cheer you, my darling, to-day ! 

Don't sorrow alone o'er the coldness of 

men — 
And don't miss a moment of play ! 



171 



GETTING TO BE A MAN. 

I'm glad my hair ain't yallow, 

And all curled up and long; 
I'm glad my cheeks ain't dimpled, 

And that I'm gittin' strong, 
I wisht my voice was hoarser, 

To talk like Uncle Dan, 
Because I want to hurry 

And git to be a man ! 

I'm glad the women never 

Come up to me and say : 
"Oh, what a purty little boy!" 

In that soft kind of way. 
I wear big shoes, and always 

Make all the noise I can, 
Because I want to hurry 

And git to be a man ! 

I've got on pa's suspenders — 

Wisht I had whiskers, too. 
And that my feet was bigger, 

And schoolin' was all through. 
Wisht Edison or some one 

Would come out with some plan 
To help a boy to hurry 

And git to be a man ! 



MEDITATIONS OF JOHNNY. 

I wisht 'at I was bigger, so when I go out 

to play 
With older boys they wouldn't try to 

order me away, 
An* nen they wouldn't always make me 

set up on the fence, 
When they are playin' circus, an' be the 

audy-ence. 

I'd like to git into the ring, an' play I was 

the clown. 
Or else the bareback rider, who goes 

jumpin' up and down. 
Or I'd like to be ringmaster — wouldn't 

that be just immense ! 
But ev'ry time they make me play' at I'm 

the audy-ence. 

When I git bigger, someday I'm agoin' to 

have a ring 
An' be the lofty tumbler, an' clown, an' 

ev'rything, 
An' then the littler boys'll have to set up 

on the fence 
An' clap their hands when I perform — an' 

be the audy-ence. 



173 



A BOY'S KING. 

My papa he's the bestest man 

Whatever lived, I bet, 
And I ain't never seen no one 

As smart as he is yet. 
Why, he knows everything, almost, 

But mamma says that he 
Ain't never been the President, 

And that surprises me. 

And often papa talks about 

How he must work away — 
He's got to toil for other folks 

And do what others say ; 
And that's a thing that bothers me — 

When he's so good and great. 
He ought, I think, at least to be 

The ruler of the State ! 

He knows the names of lots of stars. 

And he knows all the trees. 
And he can tell the different kinds 

Of all the birds he sees, 
And he can multiply and add 

And figure in his head — 
They might have been some smarter 
men, 

But I bet you they are dead. 



174 



A BOT'S KING. 

Once when he thought I wasn't near 

He talked to mamma then 
And told her how he hates to be 

The slave of other men, 
And how he wished that he was rich 

For her and me — and I 
Don't know what made me do it, but 

I had to go and cry ! 

And so when I sat on his knee 

I ast him: — "Is it true 
That you're a slave and have to toil 

When others tell you to? 
You are so big and good and wise, 

You surely ought to be 
The President, instead of just 

A slave, it seems to me." 

And then the tears come in his eyes, 

And he hugged me tight and said :- 
"Why, no, my dear, I'm not a slave — 

What put that in your head? 
I am a king — the happiest king 

That ever yet held sway, 
And only God can take my throne 

And my little realm away!" 



175 



SHE NEVER WAS A BOY. 

When I come home, the other night, 

With an ugly lookin' eye 
That I had got into a fight, 

Poor ma commenced to cry; 
But when I told pa how it was. 

He clapped his hands for joy, 
And told me I done bully, 'cause 

Once he had been a boy. 

'Boys will be boys," I heard him say, 
"They won't be otherv/ise, 
And the one that learns to fight his way 

Is the one that wins the prize; 
When I was his age fightin' was 

My greatest earthly joy — " 
But ma she kept on cryin', 'cause 

She never was a boy. 

My golly, but I'd hate to be 

A girl with braided hair. 
And always prim as A, B, C, 

With clothes too clean to wear ! 
When ma was small I s'pose she was 

Red-cheeked and sweet and coy — 
But, oh, the fun she missed because 

She never was a boy ! 



176 



RIDING THE OLD GRAY HORSE. 

The old gray horse jogs down a way 

That leads through a pleasant land, 
Where never a wrong is suffered to stray, 

And never a plot is planned ! 
And the breeze that blows revives and 
cheers 

And happiness fills the air. 
And sweet are the sounds that greet my 
ears, 

While the horse is jogging there ! 

Ride on, upon the patient steed, 

As another rode long ago, 
Down past the old enchanted mead. 

Where the flowers of memory blow — 
Through the beautiful town of Used-to-Be, 

Which lies in the pleasant way, 
And cling, as I clung to my father's knee. 

And urged the good old gray ! 

The old gray horse jogs down a lane 

That leads from the town of Care, 
Past running brooks and waving grain, 

And meadows wide and fair, 
To the glorious city of Heart's Content, 

Which stands on the hills of Joy, 
And where the head of the government 

Is a shouting little boy ! 



177 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE. 

Oh, dance around it, m}^ little man ! 

Oh, clap your hands and shout! 
Be merry, my darling, while you can. 
For the candles will soon burn out — 
There is care ahead. 
There are tears to shed. 
And there will be trouble and doubt. 

Oh, dance around it, to-day, my love ! 

Sweet faith has been given to thee — 
Faith in the Glorious Child above — 
The faith that was given to me! 
But scoffers will rise, 
To "open your eyes," 
And set you adrift on the sea. 

Oh, dance around it, my dear, to-day ! 

You are going to mingle with men. 
And the faith that you have will be taken 
away, 
And gloom will encompass you then ! — 
Till your own little one 
Sends care on the run, 
And brings the old faith back again. 



THE GOOD NIGHT KISS. 

I saw a sweet young mother place 
A hand upon her darling's head; 
A blush of shame o'erspread his face, 
As lovingly, she said : 
"Come, dear, 'tis late, 
You mustn't wait. 
So say good night, and go to bed." 

He looked at me with sheepish eyes, 

And softly tried to steal away ; 
I thought of one in Paradise, 
Who taught me how to pray : 
"And must I miss 
My darling's kiss?" 
I heard the fond young mother say. 

Her cheeks were round and soft and fair, 

As were another's long ago; 
I saw a child with sunny hair. 
O'er whom a mother bended low, 
I heard her say, 
As he fled away : 
"And pray for the orphan, too, you 
know." 

I sigh for the clasp of a tender hand. 
And the kiss that a shamefaced boy 
forsook ! 



179 



THR GOOD NIGHT KISS. 

I sigh for the love he could understand 
At last, when they bade him "come and 
look!" 

But a boy never knows 
Till the fond eyes close, 
And the Lord, in his wisdom, shuts the 
book. 



i8o 



A BOY'S COMPLAINT. 

Almost the last words father said 

To me before he fell asleep 
Were: "William, keep this in your 
head: 

The crop you sow you'll have to reap! 
Don't envy others what they've got, 

But you just do the best you can 
For all the world, and you cannot 

But grow to be a worthy man." 

I've had to work since father died — 

I've learned a lot I never knew 
Before he went; but still I've tried 

To do the things he told me to. 
I've never cheated anyone, 

I've always tried to shun the wrong; 
If he can see, he knows I've done 

My level best to help along. 

But every day or two I meet 

Someone that father used to know, 
Who says: "My gracious! It does beat 

Creation how these boys do grow!" 
And so he stops and looks at me. 

And I could knife him then, because 
He's sure to say I'll never be 

Quite such a man as father was. 



i8i 



A SOT'S COMPLAINT. 

A week ago my Uncle John 

Came on a visit from the West; 
'Gosh, how you've grown since I've been 
gone ! ' ' 
He said — and then I guessed the rest. 
He grabbed me by the muscle — gee ! 

What an awful grip he had ! — 
But o' course," said he, "you'll never be 
Quite such a feller as your dad !" 

Still, mother tells me not to care 
What such unthinking people say ; 

She says she knows I'll make them stare, 
If God but lets me live, some day; 

'For even Washington," says she, 
"No doubt was often sad because 

Folks told him he would never be 
The man his humble father was." 



182 



